The Owl and the Pussycat
by suscintilla
Summary: From end of 2004 Movie...Meg Giry decides to go looking for the Phantom instead of leaving him to the mob.  What she finds is not pretty.  rated T to be safe. E/M
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is my first fanfic after many years enjoying everyone else's stories. This is based on 2004 film version and Gerry's portrayal of Phantom. Reviews (even anons), suggestions, thoughts etc all greatly appreciated. I've gotton to chapter 5 with this but wanted to see how it was received in case I need to tweek anything. So let me know ok!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, only my own OC's and plot.**

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**The Owl and the Pussycat**

Edward Lear

1st published in 1871

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea

On a beautiful pea-green boat

They took some honey and plenty of money

Wrapped up in a five pound note

The Owl looked up at the stars above

And sang to a small guitar

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love

What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are

What a beautiful Pussy you are"

Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl

How charmingly sweet you sing

O let us be married, too long we have tarried

But what shall we do for a ring?"

They sailed away for a year and a day

To the land where the Bong-Tree grows

And there in a wood a Piggy-Wig stood

With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose

With a ring at the end of his nose

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?"

Said the Piggy "I will"

So they took it away, and were married next day

By the Turkey who lives on the hill

They dined on mince and slices of quince

Which they ate with a runcible spoon

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand

They danced by the light of the moon, the moon

They danced by the light of the moon

Chapter 1

The pain ripped through his chest like a tidal wave. His eyes were swollen almost shut and stung from the river of tears he had wept. He thought he would lose consciousness, he felt so faint and his stomach was rolling as if standing on the deck of a schooner in a gale. "Am I dying?" he vaguely wondered. "Is this what it feels like when you leave this earth for good?" He curled into a ball on the bed in the corner of his secret refuge and wrapped his arms around hugging himself tightly as if holding on for dear life. No one knew about this place, he himself had only ever come here to store necessities hoping never to have to use it. But it pays to be prepared and the part of him that was capable of conscious thought congratulated himself for his foresight. He had, over the past years and months, deposited trunks full of clothes, candles and blankets into the furthest recesses of this tunnel - one of the most remote in the vast maze that ran underneath the Opera Populaire and continued beneath the city of Paris. There was also a strongbox hidden in an alcove which held a portion of what he managed to extract from his managers every month. Now he just wanted death to come and deliver him from the agony he was at the mercy of. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that the voices baying for his blood had faded and had now disappeared altogether. His beloved opera house was burning above him and he had left a trail of destruction in his wake. It was time for him to go. He had caused so much pain and fear, destroying all he held dear and he could bear the weight of it no longer. His heart felt like it was exploding inside his ribcage and he could see stars behind his eyes. Time to go now, silently, in darkness...alone.

Meg Giry was soaking wet all the way up to her waist. "Thank God for trousers" she thought as she waded through the shallow lake that was at the centre of the Phantom's underground paradise. For that is what she thought it looked like - paradise. There were heavy burgundy velvet drapes lining the cavern, creating individual chambers like a Bedouin's desert palace. Towering candelabras threw a magical glow across every surface and warmed the otherwise cold and damp walls. An organ stood in the centre of it all, its pipes majestic and proud suveying the hundreds of scattered pages filled with notes that littered the ground. The floor of the cathedral-like space was carpeted with thick richly woven Turkish rugs in colours of deepest crimson and brightest gold. To the rear was what looked as if it must have been a bedroom as it housed the most beautiful bed Meg had ever seen. It was shaped like a bird, a swan perhaps, carved from some dark wood that looked almost bronze in the candlelight. The wings of the swan would wrap around you as if for protection in sleep. She could imagine only having pleasant dreams in such a magnificent bed. But this was all fancy; there was a crazed mob behind her carrying their torches aloft and calling for blood. Her imagination and appreciation for all things beautiful had completely distracted her from her purpose in getting ahead of the rest of them.

"Where has he gone, he can't have just disappeared into thin air?" Meg wondered, the crease of concentration in her brow deepening between her eyes.

Looking longingly back towards the big soft bed with its glistening gauze canopy, she spotted something on a little table. It was a child's toy - a monkey seated on a little cushion with a cymbal in each hand. It appeared to be some sort of music box. For some reason this brought a sting of tears to her eyes as she imagined a grown man cherishing and indulging in such whimsy. "Beautiful" she thought wistfully as she straightened up to leave, turning as she rose. A flash of white like an owl in the night sky caught her eye. There, lying on the table beside the little monkey was the mask.

"He's still here, he must be. He would never have left this behind" she concluded as she gently picked it up and turned it almost reverently in her hands. Suddenly she was jolted from her quiet thoughts by the frenzied chants and cries coming from beyond the entrance to the cavern.

"Track down this murder! He must be found!" they roared.

Meg spun on her heel clasping the mask to her breast darting glances around her, half expecting the Opera Ghost to just appear out of nowhere and snatch it from her fingers. The mob had now reached the centre of the lake, their high torches throwing ghoulish shadows dancing across the cavern walls and high up in to the ceiling. She pulled aside her blouse with her left hand and slipped the mask underneath with her right praying it wouldn't be noticed.

"There is no murderer here" she shouted, addressing the mob in as loud and authoritative a voice as she could muster. "There is no one here now".

The bloodthirsty crowd halted abruptly at her words creating little ripples at the edge of the water. Their ringleader turned to the mob and motioned for them to turn and go back up the way they came. Suddenly there was mass panic as another purpose fuelled their movements. The opera house was on fire and they had to go back up through it to get out. This fact had been conveniently forgotten in the manhunt. Men turned to the one behind and pushed and shoved their way to the front, smaller ones getting knocked to their knees in the process and trampled to the water. Meg held her breath until the last of them had passed under the great iron portcullis. She heaved a sigh of relief and began to shiver uncontrollably, tremors running through her body starting at her knees and shaking her ribcage. She supposed it was shock and the cold but she couldn't allow it to gain the upper hand. There would be time to fall apart later. She had to find him.

Above ground amidst the flames, Antoinette Giry, Directrice of the Opera Ballet, searched the faces coming up from the tunnels for the wide chestnut eyes and long blonde hair of her daughter. There was chaos backstage now as hundreds of theatre goers in their finery and musicians from the orchestra pit met a wall of stagehands, half out-of-costume corps de ballet, prop masters and animals running loose. The few who she managed to slow down in their haste to escape couldn't recall ever having seen her. At last one of the stage hands stopped when Madam Giry recognised him and put her hand on his arm to stop him.

"Oh Pierre, please…please tell me you saw Meg down there somewhere?" she pleaded, her eyes frantically searching his for a sign he knew who she meant.

"Yes Madame, I saw her. She got down there before us but she said there was no one there, so we left. I did not see her on the way up, maybe she's behind us? Please forgive me; I have to get out of here now and so should you, before the place burns to the ground."

Madame Giry squeezed his shoulder and nodded absently, then watched him leave with the rest. She knew Meg was still down there and could only hope that she found what she was looking for because then at least she would be safe. Wouldn't she?

Meg turned in the silent flickering light to survey the remains of the fallen angel's subterranean haven. There were pages of sheet music strewn all over the carpeted floors, beautifully drawn sketches of her friend Christine, a writing desk complete with ink pots, quills, a wax pot and that skull seal he was so fond of. "He really does favour the theatrical doesn't he?" she mused to herself " Although I don't know how he could be anything else, living as he did down here, surrounded by pilfered props from forgotten productions." Smashed mirrors lined one wall, cracked glass now distorting the last image they saw. She walked past the last one and felt a crunch under her soft leather boots. Why was there glass where there is no mirror? She looked up from her feet to the base of the wall where a heavy velvet curtain brushed the carpet. She put her fingers against the centre of the drape expecting to meet resistance but it gave under the pressure of her hand. Found you! Now she was terrified. She must be. Her heart rate felt like it had just doubled and she could feel the perspiration beading at her temples and tickling the back of her neck. She took a deep breath and took the edge of the curtain in her left hand and lifted it slowly from the ground and back.

"Oh stop being such a chicken Meg, just pull it open, it's only fabric. It can't hurt you!"

She yanked it back and a whisper of air kissed her cheeks as she kept her eyes tightly shut against what she might see. Slowly unscrewing her right eye she realised it was pitch black. It was like nothing. An abyss. A void where something else used to be. Torch…she needed a torch. She turned and grabbed the neareast candleabra from the organ bench and waved it in front of her to light her way and as a sort of weapon if she was perfectly honest with herself. She let the curtain fall behind her so as to disguise her exit, much as she guessed the Phantom had done before her.

The tunnel curved around to the right but she could only ever see a few feet in front of her. She heard dripping from the ceiling and walls and smelled stagnant water and wet earth all around. It was damp and very cold but she could feel a breeze passing over her face and she knew that it had to be travelling to or coming from somewhere. She followed the current of air like a piece of string out of a maze. She needn't have brought the candelabra; she could navigate like this in the dark. "Maybe this is how he moves around so well unseen" she thought. She reached a fork in the tunnel and was completely at a loss as to which way would be more obvious and by virtue of logic that would make it the worst one to follow if you were trying to stay undetected. This was all very well, except no logical direction presented itself. She looked down at her feet that had by now lost all feeling and lamented her scant clothing. She should have gone looking for one of his enormous cloaks before she set out. "Oh, you stupid girl! Footprints! Phantom sized footprints! Idiot," she chastised herself. She almost ran around to the right - the more obvious way as it turned out - and then she heard it.

Great wracking sobs, the universal sound of anguish and despair. It hurt her ears and she immediately thought of a wounded animal - a lion with a thorn in his paw. She stepped carefully towards the sound and came to a heavy wooden door covered in great big iron studs that looked like it been there for hundreds of years. She pressed her ear to the door and set the candelabra carefully on the ground beside her.

"Christine…why!" he wailed, the sounds of shivering permeating Meg through the door as if she herself shook with it.

"Enough" she declared to herself. Bracing herself for the torrent of abuse she was sure she would get; she breathed in, squared her shoulders and pounded twice with her right fist.

The sobbing stopped for a moment.

"Go away…leave me be…please just go…" and then the sobbing again.

Meg had had enough of listening to this so she stood firm and addressed the door who she hoped would listen.

"No I will not go away. It's Meg Giry…from the ballet. Everyone has gone. It's just you and me down here now. Please let me in, let me help you?"

She waited, ear pressed to the door straining to hear for any movements inside. She wasn't quick enough. As the door gave way she stumbled; left shoulder first into a wall of wet shirt, hot skin and man. Her right arm flew out to grab onto anything to stop her fall to the ground and found warm hard shoulder, his left hand gripping her tiny waist, almost spanning it. Meg stared straight ahead and her eyes met with the exact same shirt she herself was wearing although his was soaked through. Slowly she let her gaze travel upwards noting a collarbone, neck, chin, lips and nose until eventually she was locked into the blue green storms that were his eyes. She did not move a muscle, didn't blink, couldn't. He stared straight back, neither backing down, Meg knowing somehow this was a test that she must not fail.

"Did I not ask to you to GO AWAY?" he levelled at her in the most chillingly cold and precise tone she had ever heard. She felt the shiver start again in her knees and this time she really was cold and she had not come all this way for this.

"You are in NO position to turn me away Monsieur le Fantome" she stated in what she hoped was an equally chilling tone. He did not have the copyright on being theatrical. She pushed at the heavy door with her left thigh, bent down and picked up the candelabra waving it in front of her to make him retreat. Both moved in unison. She'd won that round it seemed.

He turned and went back to his previous position on the bed, his right side turned into the wall so she could not see his damaged face. Again he curled up in a ball, wrapped his arms around himself and began to rock back and forth; the sobs slowly overtaking him once more, seemingly oblivious to his new guest.

"So," Meg concluded silently, "the Phantom has a thorn in his heart."

She set the candelabra on a nearby table and glanced round the small chamber, noting the two large chests in one corner. She ignored the sobbing hulk of pain on the bed and instead concentrated on trying to heave open the lid of one huge trunk, finally lifting it enough to get her shoulders underneath it to flip the lid over. It was full of clothes. Clean, dry, beautiful clothes. Mens clothes. Well, what did she expect? That he'd have packed for her too? She pulled out a clean shirt, trousers, and waiscoat and then began hunting for anything that resembled a towel. The other chest had already been opened and she saw it contained blankets, sheets, and pillows and yes, just tucked into the side….towels. Why had his first thought not been to get himself into dry and warm clothes but to lament the loss of Christine Daae? Where was his sense of self preservation? Her naive friend had believed he was a spirit for the best part of the past 10 years. She was in love with the young Viscount de Chagny who lived in a château and actually appeared in public. Poor Opera Ghost never had a chance. Did he not care whether he caught his death? Or now that she had sailed off into the sunset did it just not matter anymore?

Meg was overlooked her entire life for the prettier one, the better voice, the slimmer figure. She was the best dancer of the lot of them and saw far more than she let on or than she was given credit for. She knew what Christine was doing, sneaking through the mirror to the lake, although she had never seen it. She had heard him too. She had seen him up high in the flies when everyone else's eyes were on the stage. She knew to look up. He caught her looking once and she thought that maybe he gave her a small bow before vanishing behind that huge billowing cape again. She knew he wasn't a spirit or a ghost but real. Flesh and blood real and she had never been afraid of him. Somehow she knew he would not harm her and felt almost like he kept watch over all of them. He had been there as long as she had memories. He just was. Sometime his little pranks on the stagehands or La Carlotta were quite entertaining and broke up the monotony between productions but more recently they had become serious and she knew why. Around the same time her oldest friend Christine developed that dreamy, faraway look in her eyes, often looking like a startled fawn.

He was volatile. And he was going to make himself sick if she didn't do something.

Setting the fresh clothes on the end of the bed, she found fresh water in a large jar by the door which she poured into a bowl that had been carefully packed into one of the chests. Taking one of the cloths she found, she soaked it in the cold water and wrung it out. She braced herself for the opposition this was likely to face but she remained determined to intervene. She walked to the side of the big bed and reached out a hand to touch the back of his shoulder. He flinched at the touch which made Meg jump back in fright. He turned and stared accusingly at her shouting to his full lung capacity.

"Look, LOOK! Is this what you wanted to see? Look at it and never forget."

He had turned all the way round on the bed facing her with the right side of his face. She did as she was told. She looked. She saw the side of his nose that was not quite like the other side. She saw the ridges of red, bruised, raw skin along his cheek which appeared slightly more pronounced than the left. She saw his eyelid that drooped so that she could she the red veins underneath, his distorted left ear and the mottled flesh around it where no hair grew and she felt. It seemed to Meg as if every emotion she had ever experienced was rushing through her all at the same time. She felt her eyes well and willed them not to spill over and betray her. She looked directly into the blue green whirlpools again which sparkled with fresh tears and reached up with the cold cloth. His eyes flickered and he blinked at the cloth in confusion.

"Do you wish me to cover my face from you? Is that what you want? You can NEVER forget what you have seen. Now you will never be free of the nightmare of this face you foolish, prying, insolent girl!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Oh no you don't," she thought. There was no way she was going to get tarred with the same brush as everyone else.

"Stop it…stop it…stop it!" she shouted at him, stamping her foot like a petulant child.

"I don't wish you to cover your face; it is not the horror you seem to think or have been led to believe. Do not assume I will think as all the rest have thought. No one tells me what to think or what nightmares to have. Perhaps I shall dream about it instead, just to spite you!" she ranted, hardly pausing for breath. His head whipped back from the ferocity of her words as if she had slapped him. He couldn't quite believe this was the same little Meg Giry, ballet rat, ever curious, always where she shouldn't be and his Christine's shadow; in fact everyone's shadow. She had just decided to step into the light with a loud crash and he was still reeling from it. She was like a spitting cat, claws out, her hackles up, long hair weaving hypnotically behind her like a tail. She was considering his reaction through narrowed eyes and he was at a loss as to what to say in response to her tirade. His eyes calmed to their more usual aquamarine.

"Wh…what is it for then? The cloth…if not… if not to cover my face?" he ventured cautiously, never having remembered tripping over his words before now. He was still reeling from her threat to dream about his face and he stared at her wonderingly.

That did it. Meg's heart turned over at the look of utter confusion and bewilderment on his face and smiled back at him hoping to soften her previous attack.

"It's for your eyes you silly man. They look swollen from…well…anyway I know what that feels like. They are burning and stinging and your skin feels like it's going to rip apart doesn't it?" she suggested softly. He lowered his eyelids, undone by her insight, causing yet more moisture to chase down his cheeks like raindrops on a window pane. She held out the cloth to him and when he didn't reach for it she pressed it gently across the bridge of his nose from one temple to the other. She felt him lean his forehead into her hand, his shoulders slumping forward desperate for the comfort she offered or maybe he had just given in. Either way, she supposed it was progress.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, until Meg felt the cloth warm beneath her fingers. She soaked it in the cold water and wrung it out turning to hold it to his face again only to find he now lay flat on the bed; finally having given in to exhaustion. She leaned over his broad chest to press the cold compress over his eyes hoping to further reduce the swelling in his eyelids and give him some comfort in sleep. As she made to leave the bedside a hand reached out and gripped her left wrist. It was firm yet gentle and surprisingly soft she supposed; for a man. Meg nervously glanced from her wrist to her captor who could surely feel the racing pulse beneath his fingers.

"Oh please let him not notice, what is wrong with me? It's only a hand" she thought frantically.

"Meg?" he croaked, "I am sorry if I frightened you. I know you were only trying to help. You know you are your mother's daughter. Th…thank you."

Had he just apologised? At least he hadn't shouted at her again. Her mother's daughter? Hah! He didn't know much about the fairer sex if he thought that was supposed to be a compliment.

"You did not really frighten me. I know people call you the Phantom and that it has suited you to have everyone terrified but you are just a man, not a ghost and I am not afraid of you. I saw you up in the flies sometimes in your black cape and mask and…oh, your mask; I found it out there and I had completely forgotten!"

She reached into her blouse with her free hand and as discreetly as she could; drew out the mask and handed it to him. He took it from her and stared at it as if he had never seen it before. The white moulded leather was warm from her skin.

"Thank you. You really don't mind my face?" he asked in wonder.

Meg considered how she should reply to this loaded enquiry and decided the truth was probably best.

"No Monsieur le Fantome, I really don't, after all everyone's got something they're not happy with" she admitted, "but maybe you shouldn't wear the mask so much. The skin looks raw and bruised, angry and sore. When I dance for hours I get sores like that on my skin and they always heal so much better without bandages or bindings. You need to let your skin breath. You need sunlight on your face. "

He raised his left eyebrow in query and conceded, "Perhaps. The sun does not shine down here…and it's Erik."

"What is Erik?"

"My name. You cannot keep calling me Monsieur le Fantome, fitting though it was within the confines of the Opera House and for the purpose it served. The Phantom burned with Don Juan Triumphant. I am fortunate to make your acquaintance face to face at last, ma petite ballerine," he said as he moved his grip from her wrist to take her tiny hand in his large one, bowing low and dropping a kiss across her knuckles. "Goodness he's formal," she thought, considering the tiny glimpse he had just afforded her of his alter ego. Her mother had always taught to appreciate nice manners and his were impeccable. Meg swallowed and returned the pressure, relieved when finally he let her hand drop. Ma petite ballerine? She rubbed her now clammy hand down her thigh to try and calm her rapidly fraying nerves and nodded in agreement.

"I am glad to meet you too….Erik," she finished nervously.

She thought he almost smiled then before his head rolled to the side and she heard the change in his breathing that signalled sleep had finally claimed him.

She tiptoed across to the trunk full of linens and selected a large wool blanket which she draped and tucked around his sleeping form. She rummaged through the trunk and found several more thick blankets, a feather pillow and oh the joy of it - an eiderdown! She could use it as a mattress and would sleep on a bed of air tonight. This definitely beat the hard cots of the ballet dormitories hands down. Erik may have lived a life apart under the earth but he certainly made sure he was comfortable. She liked that about him. There was no point in being completely miserable. She thought back to the beautiful swan bed again and vowed to ask him about it when he woke. Had he built it himself? She couldn't recall it ever having been a part of any productions she had seen so she didn't think it came from "upstairs". She would have a bed just like that some day when she was a famous Prima Ballerina and the world was at her feet. She might even have the black lace canopy that sparkled in the light which had hung above it. What kind of man has a swan for a bed anyway? The kind of man that lives under an opera house and a taste for drama, obviously. Then she remembered the fairytale her mother had told her when she was much younger, about the ugly duckling that grew into a swan. He would look at his reflection every day and cry to his mother that he would never change. She told him that she loved him just the same and assured him that one day he would see his reflection and he would be a swan just like his brothers and sisters. Maybe Erik thought he was the ugly duckling because of his face and someday he might wake up and magically be the swan? Was that what all the mirrors were for? She had to admit she was surprised to see so many in the home of someone who couldn't stand the sight of himself. Was he hoping someday the reflection that stared back at him would somehow change, present a different reality? She shook out the eiderdown on the ground, spread the blankets across her makeshift bed, fluffed her pillow a few times and set the candelabra down beside it. Meg flopped down to pull off her knee high boots; sitting down for the first time, she realised, since Don Juan had walked on stage. "Was that only a few hours ago? "She marvelled to herself. It seemed like an age ago; so much had happened since. She crawled underneath the heavy blankets, grateful for their warmth and laid her head on the soft pillow. She felt the tension slowly ease from her tired limbs and shoulders and began to feel like she might actually fall asleep. She tried to concentrate on the sound of even breathing coming from across the room and turned to blow out the candles. She paused and feasted her eyes for a moment on the sleeping form of her new friend; the left side of his face turned towards her. His eyes weren't as swollen now and he looked calm in sleep, almost benign if that was possible. The candlelight sculpted his features in sharp relief so she could see clearly the small cleft in his chin, the strong jaw and cheekbone of his good side and that mouth. She decided that the arrangement of all his features was having an altogether unsettling affect on her and she was almost glad the two sides of his face didn't match because then he would be devastating. She blew out the candles with far more force than necessary as if to extinguish her dangerous thoughts. He really did look like a fallen angel. Erik, her broken hearted friend who needed the light. With that thought she finally fell asleep.

The harrowing sound of a grown man weeping found the farthest reaches of Meg's unconsciousness and pulled her awake with a groan. "This is worse than babysitting," she thought absently, sitting up and reaching around in the dark for the candelabra. Damn! She had totally forgotten to leave one candle burning and she had no way of relighting them. "You idiot Meg," she mentally chastised herself. She was proving to be completely useless in a crisis. The weeping across the room had developed into nonsense of half sentences accompanied by the sound of what she could only assume was Erik thrashing about in his bed. She winced at the thought, sorry that he had not been able to sleep through without a disturbing rerun of the previous night's events. Christine's name was featuring heavily in addition to the "fool" she assumed was the Viscomte de Chagny. He was shouting now and sounded like he'd gotten himself knotted up in the blankets. He seemed to be fighting off an invisible enemy.

"Christine, Christine…" he sobbed.

"Why did you betray your Angel of Music? Why? WHY? WHY?" he wailed.

The sound hurt Meg's ears and if she was honest she was just a bit afraid of the sound carrying through the tunnels. If they were found Erik would hang. She threw her blanket back and scrambled to her stockinged feet, feeling in front of her for obstacles. She moved hesitantly forward in the direction she knew the bed to be, holding her arms out to feel for its edge. Erik continued to toss and turn, seeming to get more and more agitated the closer she got. She winced as her shin connected with the corner of the bed and she bent down to rub it. Meg sent up a silent prayer for his sanity and her safety as she reached out a hand to him in the blackness. She could feel the air crackling in the velvet dark and then a split second sense of foreboding registered before she was knocked to the ground, a pair of strong hands gripping either side of her tiny throat. She shook her head from left to right to try and break free of his hold but he held fast. She was vaguely aware of pressure on the centre of her windpipe and the feel of his thighs either side of her waist which meant she wasn't going anywhere. He was ranting about Christine again, about betrayal and angels. Frantically she tried to prise his fingers from her neck but he was oblivious to her struggles. She looked up where she supposed his face to be; feeling faint now from lack of oxygen. She knew she would black out soon if he didn't stop.

"Why did you do it, no one had to see," he wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks, raining on her. "Eh...Ehhr…Ehh…Ehhrriik!" she coughed, willing him to hear her voice breaking through his terror. She was scared he wouldn't stop before she lost consciousness and she had to make him realise before it was too late.

"Eh…EHHRRRIK STOP! It's Meg! MEG!" she almost spat out with her last breath. She felt the muscles above his knees tense at her sides, his fingers stilling at her throat. If she could have drawn breath she would have held it, waiting for the signs of recognition. If she had only left the damn candle burning he would have seen her. She wouldn't be lying flat on her back between the vice like thighs of well over six foot of angry, grief stricken man; her neck a whisper away from being crushed like a dry leaf. It felt like an eternity before she finally sensed his mood shift in her favour. The tremors beginning to course through him reverberated in her as he ripped his hands from her neck and pushed himself up from his knees.

"Oh God…what have I done?" she heard him force out. Meg's hands flew to her throat rubbing where his fingers had gripped her, gasping in great lungfuls of air until she thought her ribcage would shatter. Pushing herself up off the floor, she bent over alternately coughing and sucking more air into her lungs. "Meg, I'm sorry…so sorry…please forgive me…Meg?" Erik wept in anguish. He felt her small hand touch his arm in the darkness. He pulled her by the shoulders against his chest, not waiting for her to change her mind, folding her tiny frame in his arms and burying his face in her hair.

"Ma petite ballerine, I didn't mean to…I thought you were…oh God forgive me," he whispered, desperate for her to believe him.

It all became too much for Meg then, as she shook violently against him, sobbing into his shirt.

"I know you didn't, it was dark, you were having a nightmare…I just wanted to wake you from it. I'm alright, I'll be alright. But Erik," she said lifting her head up to face him in the blackness, "you cannot ever do that again. Do you have any concept of how scary you allow yourself to get? She's gone. You can't let it break you. I won't let it break you. You have to figure out where you go now…and we don't have forever. Once the authorities leave this place it will be crawling with people looking for a piece of the Phantom."

"Also I blew out the last candle in case you hadn't noticed. I have nothing to relight them and I need to go back up and find Maman and let her know we are safe. She will be worried…and I don't know about you but I need food." She stopped to take another few cleansing breaths and waited for his reply, hoping she hadn't been a bit too hard too soon with the "she's gone" remark. She had to remember he thought himself in love with Christine and he couldn't just turn that off like a tap. Plus he wasn't exactly your normal rational thinking man at the moment, if he had ever been. She suspected everything he did was in extremes. All or nothing.

Erik stood back and held her apart from him.

"I need to leave. There is a place I can go, I planned for this. I knew this day would eventually come and I knew I had to be ready for it. There's a strongbox in the wall with enough money to get where I need to go. My lawyers have all my other financial affairs in order and will know how to contact me if you need to."

"Wait!" Meg exclaimed, not quite believing it, "you have financial affairs? Lawyers? And what do you mean by my contacting you if I need to? If I need to contact you I'll just shout."

"Of course I have financial affairs, what do you think I did with the 20,000 Francs I demanded every month? Burn it? I have lawyers to manage it for me and everything I ever composed. I didn't spend every minute hidden down here you know. There are ways of getting business done when necessary without drawing attention to one. And if you or your mother needs to contact me you will _have_ to contact my lawyers as I will be gone from here."

"You may be planning on leaving, but I'm not planning on staying. You cannot possibly think you can get away from Paris alone? Everyone will be watching for you. How did you plan on getting out unnoticed?"

"Erik?" she demanded, just dying to hear what the genius had to say.

Erik heaved a sigh and landed heavily back on the bed cradling his aching head in his hands. Did she ever stop her incessant nagging? How did Antoinette ever cope with her? This was such a damned mess. What irritated him more than anything was that she was in fact right, though he wouldn't tell her. She would be completely unbearable if she thought she had outwitted him, not that she had and his head already felt like there was a herd of elephants running around inside it. He hadn't actually thought about that part in too much detail if he was totally honest and he hadn't envisioned having to leave in quite these circumstances or quite so soon. He always thought he would have weeks or meticulous planning for this part so that everything was perfect. He absolutely hated being unprepared.

"Riiight…and I thought you were a genius. So how do we smuggle you out of Paris? You are not the easiest person to hide. People will turn to look at you. And before you get in a sulk, it's because of your build and presence not your face that will get you noticed first. If it was me I'd fit under your cape but that's not going to work with you is it? Your face needs to be hidden but you can't wear that mask. It's too obvious and I'm not dressing up as a boy and binding my chest so don't even think it. We'll just have to figure out who else I can be without it drawing attention to us without a chaperone," she stated firmly. She wasn't about to let him bully her into staying behind now that she'd made her mind up. Left to wonder what became of him or if he even made it out of Paris alive.

Erik had never had a conversation like this before, well not with another person anyway. And taking place as it was, in the dark, it felt…strangely intimate. And it was little Meg…of course she couldn't come.

"Meg, you cannot leave here. Your mother would never allow it for one. What about your dancing? Do you not wish to be a Prima Ballerina someday? I got myself into this mess and I shall get myself out of it. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. I am responsible for so much already. You will remain here, where you belong" he decreed with a finality that defied a response.

"NO. You will NOT do this alone and something will only happen to me if you let it which I'm willing to wager that you won't, if you can help it. I am going back up to find Maman, matches and food. I will pack the essentials and be back down here before you know it. In the meantime I expect you to have figured out how we get out. Is there anything you forgot, that you need while I'm gone?" Meg enquired sweetly.

Erik gave up. If there was light she would have seen him throwing his eyes and hands upwards in submission and exasperation in equal measure. Meg would come whether he wanted her to or not. The little he knew of her told him that much and lest he forget; she was Madame Giry's daughter which should have told him all he needed to know about stubbornness in women.

"My violin. It's in a hard case beside the organ. If I cannot play I will go mad." Well madder, the thought wryly.

If there was light _he_ would have seen the triumphant smile that spread from Meg's mouth upwards, dimpling her cheeks and creasing the corners of her eyes.

"Of course. I'll find it. Now use your impressive intellect and tell me how to get back to the mirror you smashed," she asked brightly.

He turned her by the shoulders and walked her forward to the door, grinding his teeth in irritation.

"Keep your hand on the wall to the left hand side of the tunnel and follow it all the way. It leads directly back to the mirror. You cannot get lost. You know your way from there. Be careful before you lift the curtain again."

"I will. I'll be as quick as I can. Promise me you'll still be here?" she said in a small voice, terrified she would come back and he would be gone.

Erik swallowed and nodded in the dark, "I promise." He squeezed her shoulders gently and gave her a little push out the door, waiting until he could hear her footsteps no longer. He closed the door and felt his way back to the bed and slumped down resting his elbows on his knees. He had a friend, a _real_ friend. She was not afraid of him. She had somehow broken through his defences. How in the Devil did she do that? She wanted to help him and he had made a promise to someone for the first time in his life. He just knew he would live to regret this but conceded that he was indeed in no position to argue. He sighed resignedly and resolved to try and get some sleep while he still could, falling onto his back and closing his eyes and thought "Yes, I'll still be here, for I have nowhere else to go and it appears you are all I have" a sad smile curving his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thanks so much for the reviews...so much appreciated and criticism gratefully received! I'm trying to keep Erik as Erik as possible, but please let me know if he's getting OOC. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 3

Meg did as she was told, inching forward in the thick blackness keeping her left hand to the wall. The silence that enveloped her was deafening; her senses heightened to every trickle of moisture along the walls and her neck and every movement of unseen imagined creatures on the ground. She stifled a frightened gasp as she tried to breathe through the feelings of claustrophobia threatening to overtake her. "Pull yourself together Meg" she chastised herself. She was a grown woman - well almost - and she was acting like a child. She almost cried out in relief when her outstretched right hand finally made contact with the plush heavy fabric of the drapes that concealed the smashed mirror and heralded her entrance back into the somewhat familiar. Pulling the curtain slowly to the right, she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the sight. Not a sound save for the lapping of the water upon the shore. "Neither saint nor sinner either" Meg thought, throwing nervous glances around the huge cavern. A tranquil quiet pervaded; completely at odds with the turmoil she knew was unfolding above ground. She took a moment to gaze in wonder about the kingdom of the Phantom; the fallen angel. A few candelabras still stood burning slowly down their wicks, casting their dying light across Erik's former home, giving it a strangely spiritual feeling. The mob, mercifully, had touched little in their efforts to hunt him down. The only evidence anything untoward had occurred were the shattered mirrors, scattered sheet music and a few candelabras that had been knocked over. Most of this damage, Meg suspected, had been inflicted by Erik himself. She turned right out of the hidden tunnel and began to search for the violin which Erik had told her would be near the organ. She found the hard case under an extremely untidy pile of manuscripts and checked inside to make sure the instrument itself was inside, along with the bow. She placed it just inside the curtain for collection on the way back; she did not think Erik would appreciate her forgetting it. "Stop dallying Meg", she reprimanded herself, "a minute wasted is a minute longer than we need be in Paris." She would look through the lair for anything else that might be useful on her way back but now she needed to get up to ground level and find her mother. Starting down the stone steps to the dock she put her hands on her hips and groaned in frustration. The boat she had assumed Erik always used was gone. "Of course," she remembered, stamping her foot, "precious little Christine sailed into the sunset in it!"

"Stop it!" she thought, "it is not her fault. Maman would not want me to think of her in anger." Yet she could not help cursing the younger girl for the undeniable fact that she was going to have to wade her way back, getting soaked to the waist all over again. The portcullis was still raised and she prayed it remained so for her return. Clenching her fists at her sides and squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the cold, she inched her way into the freezing lake.

Erik woke with a gasp sitting bolt upright on the narrow bed. Groggy from sleep and disorientated from dreams, he vaguely registered he was holding something tightly in his right hand; some sort of fabric. Feeling around in the dark for the edge of the bed with his left hand; he swung his legs onto the ground and slowly rose to his full height. Trying to get his bearings he attempted to sift through the blur of memories and nightmares that were like a thick soup in his mind.

Piangi…Don Juan…Christine!…chandelier…falling…fire…falling…falling…Christine!Oh Christine!

His head had begun to throb violently, his thoughts like a runaway train at full steam with no end in sight. Feeling his way across the dark he bumped into one of the two chests he had dragged down here months before and felt around for the lid. He knew he had put matches in here somewhere…

"Where in Hell?" he grumbled moodily to the darkness; seconds later putting his hand to the long, thankfully dry, box. Pulling one match out with shaky fingers, he struck it against the side of the box and suddenly there was light.

He bent down and lit the tapers in the five branched candelabra on the ground beside the makeshift eiderdown bed. "Where did that come from?" he thought, reaching out in his mind to where he knew the memory of it must be stored.

"Meg!" he remembered; a flood of images washing over him, leaving him swaying on his feet. He stared in wonder at the piece of cloth in his right hand; his eyes welling with fresh tears; the memory of what she had done for him reaching out to his lonely soul.

With shame and utter disgust he also remembered almost strangling the little dancer who had come to find him. "No wonder she left," he pondered sadly, "she was bound to run when she saw the monster I had become." As the thoughts and memories started to organise themselves more clearly, he realised that she had not in fact left him. She was coming back. The little lunatic! Unbidden, a vision of Meg assaulted his senses; her warm nut coloured eyes blazing, long flaxen hair flying behind her as she stood her ground with him, fighting her way into his bolt hole. The little chit had even threatened to dream of his face just to spite him! He had almost forgotten that. No one had ever spoken to him the way she had done save for her mother and considering that fact, he supposed he should not be surprised. Antoinette Giry had been stubborn and outspoken and had refused to give in to his frequent tantrums so why did he think Meg would be any different? She could have not concept of what she was letting herself in for and to be honest neither did he but she had her reason to run from all this when he had nearly killed her, had she not? Satisfied she would see sense once up in the cold light of day and especially once she had spoken to her mother, he lowered his tired frame to the bed once more, the ghost of a sinister smile curving his lips. Curling into a ball, he tucked his right hand into his chest against his heart and wondered absently why the grim satisfaction at having scared Meg away was leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Why was he willing her away? "Oh God," he ground out in a voice cracking under the strain of conflicting emotions, "please let her come back to me."

Through eyes swollen and hot from yet more salty tears, Erik glanced down at the piece of fabric in his hand; the cloth she had used to soothe his face. He clasped it tighter to him as if by somehow holding on he would conjure her return. Wondrously he realised that someone had finally sought him willingly, of their own volition and had offered him comfort and not pity in his darkest hour. He never thought it would happen in his wildest imaginings and never the little blonde ballerina he had watched grow into a young woman from high up in the flies. He vaguely remembered her telling him to figure out their escape while she was gone. Since when did anyone tell him what to do? He was the Phantom, Opera Ghost and he answered to no one! Although, since he had brought his reign to a fiery conclusion, he realised that OG could be no more. With no opera house how could there be an Opera Ghost…a Phantom? Who did he become now? He did not know how to be anyone else, how to exist any other way than how he had; lurking in shadows, firing off demands sealed with a bloody skull, extorting vast sums from the managers, composing his operas and all with one goal in mind. Christine. Now she was gone, his greatest work destroyed and his opera house was burning to the ground. All by his own hand. All that remained to take with him were the memories of what he had done, the pieces of his fractured heart and his music. That and quite a sizable amount of danger money lest he forget the twenty thousand francs he had demanded from the managers every month for the past ten or so years. Little of it had been spent, he never needed much. Some had been moved into a trust, a small amount was stashed in the wall for emergencies but for the most part it remained in a vault underground, just like him.

He hoped Meg would remember his violin when she returned - _if_ she returned. When words failed him, his soul spoke through his fingers and whatever instrument he played; when the emotions inside him became too much to bear his, music was the only way he could release them and begin to breathe again. He wondered what scheme his little ballerina had come up with for convincing her mother to let her help him. And just how did she plan on springing him out of Paris? Hah, she had told him not to even _think_ about her binding her chest. That was like asking a parched man not to drink! Did she not realise what she was saying? No, of course not. She was an innocent, just like his Christine, innocent of the ways and thoughts of the baser sex.

He recalled with amusement her opposition to posing as a boy, although he had to concede that realistically it would not have worked and the less he continued to think about _that_ the better. Posing as his wife would be equally abhorrent he supposed but she had to figure something out that allowed her to accompany him in public, unmarried, without a chaperon and not draw attention. He needed to get to his bank; he needed to do something about his appearance and he needed to think about where the hell they would go once they left Paris. He had told Meg he had somewhere to go but in reality he had never gotten that far in his plans. He was going to have to think fast. Staying in France was not an option while it was still in the middle of a war with Prussia.

Meg felt like a wet rag and not for the first time, cursed her friend for taking the only mode of transport across the lake. She longed for dry clothes, something warm in her stomach and a hot bath. With aching, freezing limbs she finally hauled herself onto the dock at the far side of the lake narrowing her eyes at the black and gold boat bobbing gently alongside her. She braced herself for the long, steep climb through the tunnels to reach the mirror door in Christine's bedroom. She hoped, as it was far behind the stage that it had been spared from the fire but she had no way of knowing until she got there. Running on pure adrenaline now Meg finally reached the end of the tunnel that culminated in the huge gilt two way mirror that she knew Erik had used in his elaborate scheme to woo Christine. She set her torch in the wall and with both hands, gripped the edge of the mirror and heaved it to the left. "Oh!" Meg gasped, her hands flying to cover her nose and mouth, gagging from the overwhelming stench of smoke. From what she could tell the fire had mercifully, not reached this far but the acrid smell hung like a fog around the flower filled room. Stepping fully through the door and sliding it back carefully behind her she noticed the vast blooms that had been delivered for Christine for her debut, their scent masked forever now with the invisible veil of the fire's breath. Meg wondered what lay on the far side of the door, what chaos had unfolded while she was below. Her life would never be the same again and here in this room she still had a choice. Walk out, head high, forget everything she had seen and stand beside her mother in trying to build some semblance of a life out of the ashes that remained here. Or, find her mother, beg for her help, pray for her blessing and stand beside the man her young friend had betrayed who needed her now more than anyone ever had. Either way was uncertainty. Either way would be hard and would force her to mature far beyond her almost eighteen years. Only one way would allow her to sleep at night. Meg had made a promise to return to Erik just as he had promised to wait for her; the fact that she had not voiced it aloud making it no less binding. She knew Maman would worry and fret for her, that she would fear for her but she would do that whether she stayed here or left. She also knew that her mother had helped Erik before and she was counting on her doing it again. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Moving to the door she spared a thought for her younger friend Christine and the years they had grown together. Both of them had left their girlhood behind in the past few hours for different reasons and they two would be irrevocably changed from these events. Even if they never saw each other again they would be forever linked by the man who had affected that change. Meg hoped in her case for the better. She turned the knob and slid into the corridor hoping for some sign of day or night.

She hadn't seen daylight since the afternoon of the performance and she needed to get her body clock reset to try and combat the disorientation of being underground. Not unlike below, a strange quiet hung over the corridors of the Populaire. People she recognised seemed to go about their business just the same but in silence, slower and with less purpose…almost like ghosts. One of the younger ballerinas spotted her and ran to smother her in a hug.

"Oh Meg! Meg! We thought you had been lost…we could not find you…where have you been, how ever did you escape the fire? Madame was so worried about you. I was so frightened, did you see the chandelier fall! Oh you are soaking, we must get you dry"

Elodie wailed, nearly cracking Meg's ribs with the force of her embrace. Elodie was only fifteen and had been at the Populaire since she was five. She had glossy raven hair that refused to plait and huge navy blue eyes that tended to get even larger when she was relating a story. She was in possession of an imagination to rival Erik, Meg suspected. She was a sweet little thing but tended towards the dramatic. "Again not unlike our OG," Meg thought amusedly, "although perhaps we all have a touch of it growing up in this place." She hugged the young dancer back and assured her she was fine and that she did not remember much. The last thing she wanted was an epic tale of survival with herself in the starring role doing the rounds of the theatre thanks to Elodie and her talent for embellishment.

"Where is Maman, Elodie? Is she still here?" Meg begged of her friend.

"Yes, she is in her rooms I think, rehearsals have been cancelled of course because of what happened last night…who knows when they will begin again."

That solved that mystery then. She had been down underneath all night. It felt like a week or maybe it was just that Erik was such hard work. With no time to think on this now, Meg squeezed her friend's shoulders once more and turned to head through the maze of corridors to her mother's private rooms, her home. They were situated to the rear of the huge building, well back from the auditorium and stage where most of the damage seemed to have been confined although she really did not want to see it firsthand. She preferred to remember it as it was. She and her mother had a bedroom each and a small sitting room. They shared a toilet with the wardrobe mistress and her two daughters who also worked with her; a luxury that had only just been added. It was small but comfortable; it was all she had even known and it was home. Was. They all of them had made this their home - her, her mother, Erik, Christine. A strange family of sorts with this great place in common. And now it was destroyed. She fervently hoped it would be saved, if only so she had somewhere to come back to someday. Standing on the threshold of her home she felt as if she was on the edge of a cliff; the choice she had made swimming around in her mind. Before she had put her hand on the knob, the door swung inwards leaving her mother in its place, eyes wide and forehead creased with worry and too little sleep.

"Oh ma petite, ma pauvre fille. Marguerite I was so afraid for you. Pierre said you had gone down with the others but had not come back. I was so worried you had gotten lost or fallen into one of the traps. But you are freezing and wet so you must have just come up, non?" Madame Giry babbled nervously, searching her eyes for the answers. She drew Meg into the sitting room, pushing her gently onto the chaise longue; wrapped a woollen blanket about her shoulders and knelt in front of her.

"Maman, I am quite alright…just cold and hungry. I am not hurt and I did not get lost. You do not need to worry," she said, pausing to draw breath and then dropped the bombshell she knew her mother was waiting for.

"I found him."

Antoinette Giry shut her eyes tightly and pressed her fingers to her lips as if stifling a painful memory.

"Is he alright? Is he hurt? Oh goodness, what a state he must be in after what she did to him...after what he has done. I cannot imagine what this will do to him. Oh Meg, how ever did you find him; it is a maze down there? We all assumed he perished in the fire, although when you did not return I began to wonder if maybe…the gendarmes have even hinted that they believe it too."

"Maman, if the authorities and everyone here believes the Phantom perished last night then let it be so," Meg offered, "for it is the truth. The Opera Ghost is gone. What I stumbled upon was the living body of a man whose soul has been severed in two. Erik is broken but alive. I found him in a hidden tunnel where he had been stockpiling for an emergency although I do not think this was quite what he had in mind. He is angry, sullen, violent and moody. He is also exhausted, undernourished, depressed beyond belief and I suppose heartbroken. I have only come back up to get fresh clothes and food and then I am going back down. He must leave Paris and I will go with him."

She held her mother's widening stare while she allowed her announcement to register, letting her know she meant every word and that she would not back down. As Meg's words sank in, Antoinette fixed her gaze on her only child and watched her transform from the girl she knew to the young woman before her eyes. She had never heard her speak with such conviction before and rarely had she ever demonstrated any kind of rebellion or independence. She wondered now if that was her fault, being both her mother and her ballet mistress; demanding such high standards and sharing her with at least twenty other girls. "Perhaps," she thought guiltily "I have allowed her to fall into the shadows, never letting her take her place in the light." Christine had been the shining star thanks to the influence of the Opera Ghost and so her daughter had to watch as her childhood friend stepped centre stage for her big debut while she stayed quietly in the wings, unobtrusive, supportive, and steady. She never wanted to be accused of nepotism and so the opposite had occurred. Her beautiful girl had been overlooked. Now it seemed she had found her reason to come out of her shell and Antoinette had to acknowledge the irony of her daughter taking up Erik's cause as she herself had done all those years ago. She had done her job as a mother if she had raised Marguerite to recognise pain and suffering in another and to want to help, not to turn away. She could understand it but that did not mean she had to like it. Meg was still and would always be her little girl and she was being asked to let her leave the only home she had ever known with a much older man of questionable sanity and end up God knows where.

"Meg, my love, I can see how you would want to help him, I did the same when I was far younger than you, but this is different. You are barely a woman and know nothing of the world. Erik is almost twice your age, has murdered in the name of love and is borderline insane at the moment. Where would you go anyway? He is a wanted criminal, a fugitive and now you want to join him on the run? Have you even thought about this properly?" Antoinette pleaded with her daughter.

"Maman, I know all of this. Of course I have thought about all of these things but the fact remains, Erik needs to leave Paris. He cannot do this alone and there is no one else. You cannot do it, you must stay here. The Opera needs you, now more than ever. His Christine will not help him now. She exited stage left with her chosen prince no doubt without a thought for what she has left behind. So who? No one will even notice I have gone since they never noticed when I was here. He will keep me safe and I will look after him. I do not fear him and neither will I let him bully me. He needs sunlight and fresh air, to eat properly and to learn to forget what he cannot have. Christine occupies his every waking and dreaming moment and that is eating into him like the plague. As long as he remains here can never be free of any of it. Please, Maman, let me do this? Will you help us? Help Erik again?" Meg implored, hoping her mother could see past the shy little mouse she had once been to the determined young woman who would not back down from this fight. Maybe Erik could help her too, to be more assertive, to not shy away. Just arguing with him was making her step out of her shell more than she had dared before.

Antoinette wrung her hands in turmoil and weighed up her options in her head. If she let Meg go, she would forever worry about her safety, her happiness; imagining her on the run from the gendarmes with Erik, never stopping in one place long enough to unpack and she would miss her more than she was capable of imagining.

If she did not let her go, she would have her daughter under her watchful eye but she suspected she would resent her for it and she would have to watch her daughter's spirit fading a little more every day. That is if she did not try and run away against her wishes anyway. Oh why should any mother have to face such a decision! She cursed her dead husband for his absence and leaving her to make the choice alone.

"Meg if I give you my blessing to go with him," she began carefully "will you promise to come back? Will you promise to write and tell me where and how you are as soon as you can? Will you promise me you will never forget what he is capable of and to always remember what happened here? He has never really lived out in this world, all his living has been through books and within these walls. He only knows how to achieve through manipulation and threats. Are you sure you can handle all of that? And what am I going to tell people who ask where you have gone?"

"Oh Maman, of course I will write!" Meg threw her arms around her mother holding on for dear life. "I know a little of what he is and I am not afraid. I know it will not be easy and you forget I have never really lived outside of here either - we will both have to learn. As for what to tell people…say you have sent me away to stay with an old friend who is in need of a companion. It is not exactly a lie, just being creative with the truth. No one will question you especially as it will be a while before the opera house opens again. I will try and come back to visit as soon as it is safe but I cannot say when. I will need a disguise of some sort and so will Erik. I cannot smuggle him out of the city as he is - he will attract too much attention and I refuse to dress as a boy to accompany him...not that it would work anyway. I would have to bind my chest and God saw fit to endow me a tad more generously than needed. I thought perhaps I could masquerade as his nurse? I can bandage his face and head like he has been wounded at war. Paris is awash with returning soldiers and I cannot think of any other way I can go without me needing a chaperon, can you?"

Antoinette considered this and thought how resourceful her daughter was and that maybe she need not worry so much about her.

"Do you know, I think that might just work? There is surely something in the costume rooms that would suit for you and bandages will not be a problem. I pray Erik will realise someday what you are about to do for him. He is more fortunate than he will ever know that you and no one else found him last night. One thing is certain, you will not starve. Erik is a vey wealthy man thanks to years of outrageous salary demands and nothing and no one to spend it on. I used to bank it for him."

"You did? I had no idea. I knew you must know something as you always got the letters but you actually helped him all this time?" Meg enquired, astonished that she knew so little of her mother's movements.

"Yes I did. There was no one else who could have. I was the only one who knew he really existed, who knew him as Erik until last night. Now, I will go and look for something for you in the costume rooms if you want to have a bath now and then we can have something to eat and pack the rest of your things? We need to hurry as we have missed lunch already. It will not be safe to leave here in daylight so it must be tonight. You cannot leave it any longer."

Meg nodded, her stomach alternately growling at the thought of food and rolling at the thought of what she was about to undertake but knowing she needed to get warm and dry first. She could barely believe what she was about to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thankyou so much for the reviews...I'm taking soaking it up like a sponge! Re the flowers in Meg's room in ch 3 - I may have confused things by saying they were there for her debut which was of course during Hannibal...however as she had only stepped in for Carlotta, Don Juan would have been her first where she was the advertised lead? I love it that you're all so attentive to the details. Ch 4 has been slightly rewritten and is the better for it I hope!**

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Chapter 4

Down in the cellars, Erik had finally pulled himself together enough to change into the fresh clothes Meg had left out. His heart thawed a tiny little bit with that kindness from his new friend. She would be upstairs arguing with her mother by now. Maybe he should check on her to make sure had made it back safely to her mother even though he knew he had disarmed any traps she might come across. He needed to see Madame Giry about lightening his bank account anyway. Adjusting his mask, a new wig he had stashed in one of the chests and grabbing a fresh cloak, he left the tiny room to retrace his steps of the previous evening. He came the longer way up, rarely used, only just remembering to disable long forgotten traps along the way; it would not do to become a victim of his own misadventure. This way avoided the lake entirely; he had no wish to wade its depths as no doubt his little gondola was now on the other side, having delivered its last passengers to their freedom. He moved like the shadow he was through well remembered passages in the silent way of a panther stalking its prey. He watched from various eyeholes along the route, observing the daily grind of the Opera Populaire; underway once more but in an altogether more subdued manner. Everyone possessed the glazed look of disbelief and uncertainty on their faces. He had done this to them. Almost 750 people relied on this place for their livelihood. They raised families here, lived and died here. Did he think of them when he started this madness last night? No, he did not. As had been the case for months now, he had thought only of Christine. And it would weigh on his soul for as long as he drew breath. These people were innocent; they were a part of this place just as he was. They all made their contribution to the wonder of the Opera just as he did; everyone with their own role to play. What had been a dream, a mirage, an assault of filmy images and sounds until now, became the reality of what he had done. These people were real. Their anguish was real. The suffering that lay ahead for all of them was real and the struggle they would all face to survive until the Opera was back on its feet was very real indeed. He never noticed any of this before, never considered them. They were just there. But they were as vital to the Opera as the notes, the stage and opening night. He did not know what to do with this new realisation so he filed it away inside his crowded brain to process later; when he did not have the immediate and pressing matter of finding Antoinette Giry to deal with.

Madame Giry, Directrice of the Opera Ballet moved about the costume department like she owned it. The wardrobe mistress Madame Fleury was still in her quarters and since there was no production to stage tonight, she was not likely to disturb her. She found some plain dresses in a current enough style in colours that should not draw attention; no nonsense navies and dependable browns. They may not _exactly_ fit her daughter but they would have to do and they would suit her purpose. She also found a pair of sensible walking boots in her size which would be a shock to Meg as she had spent most of her life in soft practice pumps or toe shoes. Practicality was what was called for now. The white apron and over sleeves of a nursemaids costume were added to her pile. Moving to the practice studio at the rear of the theatre, rolls of bandages, normally used by her dancers to bind and strengthen their feet were pilfered without remorse. Turning to leave, her bundle gathered in a laundry sack, a thought crossed her mind. She grabbed a jar of ointment and a pair of brand new toe shoes; pink satin together with their neatly folded ribbons as yet unattached. She could at least give Meg the tools to continue her dancing if she was able. She knew her precious daughter needed to dance to express herself, needed to work out the worries in her heart with movement just as she had as a young girl. It had been Meg's outlet for pain, joy and frustration her entire life just as she suspected Erik's was his music. Perhaps they were not such an odd pair after all.

Coming back along the corridors satisfied she had done what was needed, and eager to see to Meg's food, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Erik! She knew it as she always had. He was somewhere along here, lurking with intent, watching her. She paused as she reached her own door, her hand hovering on the handle as she waited for him to make his move. Weary of his theatrics, she opened the door and was almost flung to the floor when her omnipresent friend swept in behind her in a swish of capes, the door seeming to close of its own volition.

"Oh for goodness sake Erik, are you incapable of being subtle? This cloak and dagger nonsense is getting old and quite beyond my nerves in the current circumstances."

"I do apologise Antoinette; it was necessary to avoid detection. Now more than ever." He felt it important she see nothing untoward in his appearance. She would only worry about her daughter and perhaps a little about him. He had dressed just the same as he had for every trip "upstairs" but was struggling to maintain the façade of the Phantom. He just wanted to slump to the floor, curl up and die but that was not part of the Opera Ghost.

Erik looked apologetic in the extreme for once as he stared fixedly at the floor, but still his vast height and powerful aura made the room shrink to the spot he stood on. Antoinette noted the exhaustion and stress in his face, the sagging of his broad shoulders, the slight stoop and the general malaise in his demeanour. No one else who had ever encountered the Opera Ghost would have noticed the differences but she did. He was broken. Meg was right about that much.

"To what do I owe this pleasure? Have you come for Meg? Because if you have you shall have to sit and wait for once. She is having a well deserved bath and needs to eat before I let her out of my sight again. And do not even start me on this ridiculous scheme you two have cooked up." Antoinette meant to have her say before this man took her daughter away from her for God knows how long and damn it she would make him listen. She too straightened her spine and tilted her head back to give him the impression _she_ was actually looking down at him. Disapprovingly.

"Actually, that is partly why I am here and I do not cook up schemes as you put it; you know perfectly well that I plan meticulously. Your daughter's fantastic notion of aiding my escape was all her own. More pressing though is the fact that I need to obtain substantial funds from my bank and it needs to be done today before they close." Erik prayed his old friend would not fail him now and could put aside her feelings regarding her daughter until this bit of business was concluded.

"Ah, you need me. It had crossed my mind such a trip would be necessary once I had spoken with Meg. Yes she has told me what happened and that she means to go with you. It may surprise you to know that I have acquiesced. Meg has more of me than I had imagined and I know that were I in her place, I would not be dissuaded. She is stubborn a-"

"You might say that but I could not possibly comment" Erik interrupted, surprised to find laughter bubbling in his throat which he quickly masked with a grunt.

"As I was saying, she is stubborn as mule. But she is also unfailingly loyal, fiercely protective of that which she holds dear and has a good heart. Do not dare break it or I will haunt you Erik, so help me God. You are not the only one with special powers. I am a mother and that means I will travel the length and breadth of this Earth to find you if I discover my only child has suffered in any way at your hands. You do not want that to happen. Do I make myself clear?" Please do not let him take this lightly, she prayed. He has to understand the enormity of what she is doing for him and what I am giving up in allowing it.

Erik paled visibly at his old friend's warning. He knew Meg was more precious to her than anything and something in her tone meant he could not doubt her words or their sincerity. The magnitude of what she and her daughter were doing was not lost on him.

"Madame, you have my word that no harm shall come to Meg as long as I have breath in my body. Not by my hand and not by any other if I can prevent it. You brought me here to sanctuary and now your daughter leads me away from here, again for my protection. I do not take that lightly. She is completely crazy of course, but as you say, will not be dissuaded." Erik hoped he could keep true to his words but only time would tell.

"So, the bank? How much do you think you will need?" Antoinette was eager to get back to business as she knew she did not have much time to get to the bank before it closed. And judging by the trip about to be undertaken, she would need to collect a sizeable amount of cash.

Meg closed her eyes, sinking further into the slipper shaped copper tub in her mother's room and imagined she was an exotic princess lounging in scented water with an army of handmaidens waiting to do her bidding. The chill in her bones began to melt away in the warm water - not quite as steaming as she would have liked but it was still heavenly.

Erik was through with waiting for Meg. He had paced and sat. He read the previous day's newspaper cover to cover and paced some more. It irritated him beyond logic that she was luxuriating in her bath next door while he was being made to wait for her to grace him with her presence. "I wait for no one! Damn women and their primping." He grumbled to himself, spinning violently on his heel after yet another lap of the tiny sitting room. "Meg…" With his face close to the door, he called her name softly so as not to startle her. He could just imagine her flailing about like a baby giraffe, arms and legs akimbo trying to ascend gracefully from what would essentially be a large pot!

Somewhere along the fuzzy edges of her mind Meg heard her name being called. "Probably Maman back from raiding Mme Fleury's chests," she thought absently, sitting up slightly to hear better. "In here…I am still bathing!" she called out in response. She sank back down letting the water touch her ears, luxuriating in the rose oil belonging to her mother that she had been over indulgent with. If this happened to be the last bath she would have for a while she wanted to make sure it was memorable.

A strange sensation crept over her skin giving her gooseflesh in the warm water and sending a shiver straight across the back of her shoulders. As she opened her eyes, still half dreaming about servants and silken robes, she became aware of a presence in the room that was most definitely not her mother. Focusing more clearly and struggling to sit up, her hand slipping from the oil; she shrieked as she recognised the unmistakable figure of the Phantom; appearing to towering over her even from the far side of the room. Her hands grasped frantically under the water for the cloth she had been using, draping it haphazardly across her chest trying unsuccessfully to preserve her modesty. With arms hugged tightly to her, Meg lifted her eyes to his, her lashes fluttering with nervous anticipation.

"He recovered very quickly from the mess I left behind a few hours ago" she thought in the midst of her panic. She had never actually seen him close up like this with the mask and cloak and that air of haughtiness he seemed to carry everywhere. He was all powerful, all seeing, emanating the threat of unleashed violence and dripping with charisma. Mesmerised, she finally saw what Christine might have seen and she lost the power of speech. He was in fact disgustingly handsome which was not something Meg wanted to think about at all but there it was.

"Mademoiselle, should you remain so any longer you shall shrivel up." Erik curled the left side of mouth in a smirk, trapping her in his burning stare for what seemed like hours until finally turning on his heel in an overly dramatic but still undeniably impressive toss of his cape, leaving only thin air where he had stood.

Meg recovered the use of her voice a second too late and instead sent an earthy and entirely unladylike curse at his vanishing back. What in the name of all that is holy just happened? She had just been rendered speechless. By Erik. No, that was _not_ Erik. That was the Opera Ghost, an entirely different animal. Of course it was the same person, she knew that. But it was as if he had transformed into this powerful entity when he put that infernal cape on. His voice changed, his eyes glittered dangerously and he radiated authority. Obviously, he possessed the ability to hypnotise woman while they were bathing too, damn him! Meg smashed her clenched fists down into the water sending the cloth back to the bottom of the tub and waves cascading over the edge making a mess on the floor. Her mother would not be impressed. She had not even had a chance to be mortified that she had been caught without a stitch on save the strategically placed scrap of cloth she was now eternally thankful for. "It would have served him right if he had gotten more than he bargained for and fainted from the shock of it," she thought wickedly, recovering her embarrassment. Erik would pay for that. Dearly.

Erik pulled the door swiftly and silently behind him gripping the knob for dear life. Shaking from head to toe and struggling to breath he moved to sit heavily on the nearest chair beside the modest dining table. What was he thinking going in there like that? Had he totally lost his mind? It served him right that he was now having what he could only assume was the precursor to a heart attack. His hands lying flat on each thigh, he could only stare in the distance; eyes out of focus now as he tried in vain to clear the vision of Meg bathing from his mind and try and concentrate on breathing slowly. It had been indelibly inked into his memory like a tattoo an instant after he had seen it. Baby giraffe! Hah! If only…

Erik had never seen a woman even partially undressed apart from Christine on the night he had brought her to his lair but even she had still worn a robe and under things. Meg was completely and undeniably nude apart from the wash cloth which might as well have been invisible. Her skin which he knew to be quite pale actually glowed gold in the soft candle light, glistening with whatever potions she had been using. The room held the pungent aroma of fat garden roses which he would now forever associate with the little dancer. She had washed her hair and it had been scraped back behind her ears following the contours of her shoulders to snake down her back, a slightly darker blonde than usual that almost matched his own. Meg had lifted her eyes to meet his and he felt as if the ground had shifted slightly. Her beautiful warm eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, embarrassment and anticipation. He had watched as the emotion in them changed to something else; her pupils dilating to the size of peas and he could not speak. The moist air crackled as he realized she was waiting for him to say something. He could not even recall now what he had said, the image of her flushing all else from his mind.

Closing his eyes he breathed deeply to try and calm his racing heartbeat. This was utter madness and he could not make sense of it. He knew exactly what was happening to him physically and knew he had very little control of it. It was what was happening in his head, his thought that he could not comprehend. Meg Giry was an irritant; bossy and far too inquisitive. She had a passable figure if you discounted her rather generous bosom. She did not have the enticing bouncy curls of his Christine, nor did she have the sweet voice of her friend. She could dance well, he supposed; in fact if he were being honest he knew she danced beautifully. Her hair while poker straight, swirled magnificently behind her when she was angry and framed her shoulders like a silken cloak when she was not.

"Stop this Erik; you are treading on extremely dangerous ground." He scolded himself, mentally banging his head against a wall. He was so awfully confused. He had been consumed by Christine, could think of nothing or no one else…could he not?

NO! Meg was caring, unselfish and kind; things he was not. She did not deserve to be thought about in such a manner. He would allow her to help him get as far away from here as possible and then he would have to find a way to send her back. And he would have to forget he ever saw what he did. For his own sanity and hers.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I was overwhelmed by the reveiws especially for Ch 4 so obviously the tweeking worked! For atmosphere and inspiration I was burning a sandalwood Yankee Candle which i will now forever associate with Erik...its a very sultry male scent. The Serenity prayer is not mine - it is attributed to Reinhold Niebuhr and wasn't published until about 1934 so i've used artistic licence as it's my story! As usual Erik and all Phantom characters are not mine, just OC's and plot. Anyhoo...their journey continues**

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There are three masks: The one we think we are. The one we really are, and the one we hold in common. J. LECOQ

Chapter 5

It had mysteriously appeared on the chair in her mother's room. Meg reluctantly admired the illusionist in Erik as she fastened the last of the buttons on the plain navy dress. She had not even noticed it there until she had finished her bath but was certain it was he who had left it. Continuing her ministrations, brushing the tangles out of her long blonde hair; a flush stole across her already warm cheeks as she recalled her first proper encounter with "OG". One moment she felt like she could fight with her shadow and the next the remembered sensation of being suspended in the air like she was floating; unable to speak, unable to do anything but tread water in his eyes, trapped until he had deigned to free her. She really wanted to have words with him over that nonsense while she was bathing but it would keep until she had something suitable to say. He always chose his words so carefully; saying only what was necessary to get his point across and now so would she. She was not like Christine whose mind had been wide open to suggestion and exploitation; probably because she was always searching for some connection or link back to her father's spirit. Meg could understand that. It was not her poor friends' fault she had sparked the interest of what Meg was realizing was a master manipulator. Well, she and only she decided who interfered with _her_ mind so he could forget about whatever he had planned for her. Unlike Christine she knew from the start what he was and what he was not. His heart beat just the same as hers and although gifted in many ways he was just a man. He would not outmanoeuvre her again. She finished combing through her knotted mane and worked it into a long braid that she knew would look ridiculous when she took it out later. They would have to leave tonight and she still had no idea where they were going. She hoped Erik had put as much effort into his plan of action as he had in annoying her so spectacularly earlier. He was maddening in his theatrics as the Phantom and frustrating in his hysterics as Erik. For both she would need the patience of a saint. Part of a long forgotten prayer came to mind as she thought about what lay ahead of her. "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference." It seemed to fit the dilemma that was Erik. She supposed she should check on her mother and eat something, not that her new navy dress left much room for it. Meg cursed her generous bosom which while the dress fit everywhere else, made breathing precarious at best. Between being irritated with Erik, struggling with her ill fitting dress and the fact that she could still smell smoke on the edges of the heady rose scent lingering in her hair, she felt like she needed to have another soak just to calm down. Hunger won in the end.

Erik had the unmitigated nerve to be stuffing himself with food when she stepped gracefully into the small living room, her mother hovering like a hen on eggs. His cape was draped across the back of his chair and part of the façade and a little of his mystery had been dropped with it. He just looked like well dressed Erik now, not malevolent, mischievous Opera Ghost. It vexed Meg greatly that he should be sitting there unceremoniously as if he had not had any hand, act or part in effecting what she could only describe as a trance or some sort of hallucination. She wanted to stamp her foot, shake him and box his ears for meddling with her head to the extent that she could not relax around him. He was gaining the upper hand seemingly effortlessly and she could not allow it.

"Well I am ravenous; all that shriveling has given me quite an appetite. I would not have fit into this dress before my bath!" Meg threw a cheeky glance under her lashes across to where her tormentor was choking on his bread.

Erik had the good grace to blush and gave her a subtle nod in acknowledgment of her direct hit while Madame Giry fussed over her daughter, placing a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of her.

"I trust you had a pleasant bath, my love? I went out to the bank on Erik's behalf while you were dead to the world in there. There is enough to last you months unless you two decide to build your _own_ opera house!"

Erik paled at her words. He never wanted to set foot in an Opera House again lest he get any more outrageous notions.

"I think it should be quite sufficient Antoinette. We will not starve." If nothing else, he wanted to make certain Meg did not suffer as a result of her decision to help him. His years of extortion would guarantee that much at least. She deserved good food, clean sheets to sleep on and hot baths every night. No! Not baths; think of anything but confounded baths.

"So, have you decided where we are going yet? I do not mind telling you that I am dying to know. In fact I spent my entire bath trying to guess, apart from when I received a visitation from the Angel of Impatience." Meg knew she was pushing it with him now but she could not seem to resist teasing. It was far better to make light of what happened than take any of it seriously although she _had_ been in her skin. If it had not been for the now revered wash cloth she would never have been able to look him in the eye again.

Madame Giry narrowed her eyes at the two sitting opposite each other, noticing her daughter's eyes full of mischief and Erik looking like he would spit feathers at any moment. Meg would be alright. Poor Erik would not know what hit him. She had not seen her daughter look so animated in years; sparring with her old friend seemed to be doing her a power of good.

Erik had officially had an overdose of Meg but realized wearily that she had not even started. He had weeks if not months of this to endure and he was going to need all his faculties to deal with her. At the moment his brain just would not stop churning with images of Christine and the blasted chandelier long enough for him to form a reply worthy of his eloquent alter ego.

"I have decided to let fate decide. We shall proceed to Gare de l'Est and take the first train that leaves Paris. Wherever it terminates is where we are going." He might as well leave it to chance as to date his well laid plans had gotten him nowhere.

"Ooh an adventure! Destination unknown…how very mysterious. Where will we end up…Vienna, Constantinople, Monte Carlo? Care to wager on it? I shall bet my precious wash cloth if you like!" Damn! She had not meant to go quite that far but he really was infuriating and besides she was on fire now. Meg should have expected what came next; forewarned as she was by the movement of Erik's jaw, indicating he was grinding his teeth to a pulp and the positively murderous look in his eyes.

"I would not do that if I were you. One should never bet what one cannot afford to lose. As for your little spectral encounter…I believe you did call, did you not?" Erik delivered silkily, fervently hoping this would be an end to it.

Meg sat open mouthed like a fish gasping its last. He had done it again damn him; rendered her speechless. Antoinette Giry could barely contain herself. She dare not laugh at either of them but she so dearly wanted to. It nearly killed her to hold it in. She winced at the thought of the long journey ahead of them and wondered if they would still be speaking at the end of it.

Meg wound the lengths of bandage around Erik's head concentrating on his right side so he could still see out his left eye. She worked in silence having not found the words to respond to his apparently hilarious comment regarding her "visitation". She had not heard her mother laugh so much in years, if ever. Blatantly she had lost that round but she would not be beaten. Erik sat quietly while she attended to him, still reeling from the sensation of having another touch his face. She was itching to argue with him, he could see that on her face, yet her hands were gentle as a breeze and he trusted her. The knowledge alarmed him as he had never trusted anyone to let them near enough to touch his face, not even Christine, not really. The kiss she had given him in pity did not count and he could not bear to think of her betrayal at exposing him the way she had. He knew instinctively that Meg would not hurt him, not intentionally. She had not shied away from him nor displayed any of the usual signs of disgust that he was used to. Her hands were steady and sure as she worked with no trace of hesitation. She finished the bandage, fastening the end behind his neck, careful not to stick the pin into his scalp and patted him on the head like a child.

"There, all done. Not bad if I say so myself. Maybe I should have been a nurse instead of a dancer!" Meg stepped back to survey her handiwork, arms folded under her chest. He looked like he had just been discharged straight out of hospital. No trace of the Phantom...well not really. He looked up at her scratching at the back of his head, and raised his visible left eyebrow. "Well…how do I look?"

"Positively ravishing. Now we must hurry, it is almost time." She allowed herself a smirk at the look of pure astonishment on his face and turned to gather her small case and the leather medical bag her mother found in the prop store. The war had recommenced.

They had said their goodbyes to Madame Giry before they had come back down so all that was left was to leave this place. Meg had collected Erik's precious violin on the way back along with some blank sheets, pen and ink. She left the wax seal. They would take only what they could carry or wear, everything else would have to remain. Meg had put the over sleeves and apron on under her coat so that if they were questioned at least she would look the part. Her hair had been wound around the back of her head and topped off with a starched white bonnet. She felt ridiculous and thought the headpiece totally unnecessary and severe but her mother had insisted.

"You will be glad of it if people start asking questions. Just think and be sensible for a moment."

So she had relented and Erik had sniggered. Her mother had held her close, stroking her hair and her face like she was committing her to memory. She could barely see on the way back down, her eyes full of tears, full of love for the mother who loved her enough to let her go. She had to let Erik lead her most of the way after she stumbled on completely level ground. He did not comment on the big fat tear that had run down her face when he reached back for her hand. Whatever her mother had said to him before they left seemed to have silenced him. She noticed his mood seemed to worsen the closer to the lake they came. The somewhat calm and measured Erik she had seen upstairs was obviously an act for her mother's benefit; the façade not needed any longer. If she had seen him last night she would never have let her go.

Standing in the doorway of the little room that had hidden Erik for the past hours, he was suddenly overcome by a sense of foreboding that had failed him on opening night.

"What is it? What is wrong?" Meg was eager to be out of there but noticed that Erik was rooted to the spot he was standing on.

"I am leaving the only home I have ever known. Perhaps not much by others standards but I was safe here. Once I step out into the streets I am at your mercy. You alone have the power to destroy me." His stomach lurched at feeling so vulnerable. It was not a situation he was familiar with and he was petrified. He had always been the master of his ship. He called the shots upstairs, he issued the orders and they were followed to the letter or he meted out the punishment. He alone controlled his destiny. For years he relied on no one. Not anymore. Now his survival depended on the goodwill of a 17 year old dancer who knew even less of the world than he did. The proud, unflappable phantom within him commanded that he stand to his full imposing height, straighten his shoulders and lift his chin defiantly; totally at odds with the emotions inside him. He did not want the little dancer to see him so exposed. She had seen too much last night and he had been trying to make up ground ever since.

Meg knew exactly what he was doing. She was beginning to understand him and his psyche now whether he liked it or not. She watched in wonder at the transformation happening right before her eyes. The power radiating from him in waves was in direct conflict with the turmoil she saw beneath lashes she would have killed for. Whatever the rest of him was saying, the truth came babbling out of his traitorous eyes. He was struggling to maintain dominance over her and she could see it was killing him. The man had very little left after Christine had ripped through his heart and it amazed her that he was still able to pull himself together like that. Having to rely on her must be devastating whatever male pride he had left and without that he had nothing. This would not do. He needed to assert his authority over her except that she had seen through the veneer to the chaos underneath

"Monsieur le Fantome" she began, for that was the face he was trying to present to her. "It may have escaped your notice but you are probably twice my weight and at least a foot taller. It is quite within your power to destroy _me_. I think it prudent at this point that we come to an understanding of sorts as we seem to have reached an impasse. I solemnly swear that I will never divulge your identity to another soul without your consent. You have nothing to fear from me. Now swear you will not kill me!" She watched him closely to see if her words were having the desired effect. She was deadly serious! Kill Meg? Hurt her? He struggled with the words that were choking him to say as the Phantom evaporated.

"Do not say such a thing, do not even think it. Ma petite ballerine, I could never…would never…" He shuddered at the very idea of it. She was the only one who cared whether he lived or perished that night.

"Say it Erik. Say the words." Meg stood glaring up at him defiantly, hands on her hips praying he would not suspect her motives.

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" He took both of her tiny hands in his and hoped he looked as sincere as he felt. This was important, he did not want her feeling like her life was about to be snuffed out every minute of every day. He could not bear the thought that she might fear him. "I swear on my life I will never, ever harm you. Satisfied?" He had never promised _not_ to kill someone before.

"Perfectly. Now can we leave? The sooner we get on a train the sooner I can sleep and you will not have to listen to me." Meg stood back waiting for him to lead the way out; satisfied she had restored his faith in his ability to be overwhelming and deadly.

By the time they both slipped into the night onto Rue Scribe he was right back to the sulking, depressed anomaly she was becoming familiar with. On Erik's insistence she was carrying a vast amount of money, claiming if something happened to him she would be able to get back to her mother safely. It made sense but she still felt uncomfortable with a phantom's ransom fixed inside her corset. That was at her mother's request, insisting it was the safest place and that no one could mug her. She should hope not. Even Erik did not know that was where she was keeping it.

It was still pitch black although Meg could see the first hint of dawn on the horizon. They kept to the shadows, out of the way of the gas lamps until they were several streets away from the Opera House. They could not afford to run into anyone from the Populaire that might recognize Meg and ask who her companion was. Erik had pulled on a heavy cloak with a hood so only his chin was visible to anyone curious enough to look. He had also taken a beautiful ebony cane with a silver handle fashioned in the shape of a swan's head. Meg thought it might come in useful to their cover story as he was supposedly an invalid. A passing hackney carriage stopped when beckoned and asked their direction. Meg spoke to the driver before Erik could open his mouth.

"Gare de l'Est Monsieur. We had booked transport to the station last evening but the hotel evidently neglected to reserve it." She looked up into the black eyes of the middle aged man sitting atop his perch. He had a skeptical look to him but then every hackney driver she had ever seen looked the same.

"Newlyweds is it? Off on your honeymoon I suppose?" He leered down from his elevated position and Meg could literally feel Erik flexing every muscle behind her. That man would have a pair of leather clad hands around his neck if he was not careful and Meg would not be able to save him.

"I beg your pardon! This man is in my care. We are on our way to Switzerland where my employer will undergo medical treatment for his injuries. I am his nurse. Not that it is any of your concern." She ignored his blustering reply and held her hand out for Erik to assist her up into the carriage. Sinking into her seat she breathed deeply to calm her racing heart. That lie had poured off her tongue like hot custard. Her nerves would be shot by the time they got out of Paris at this rate. The sensible boots were starting to chafe her feet and she had already begun fantasizing about her next hot bath. Erik handed the bags in then swung up and sat in beside her, his voluminous cape almost smothering her. He leaned over the door to glance out into the night. She had said he was in her care…he had never been in anyone's care.

Meg placed a small hand in the crook of his arm and looked up into his face when he turned to her. "Do not look back Erik. It is behind you now. Your future starts here."

"As does yours, ma petite. By the way that hat is most unbecoming on you." Erik frowned at her as he thumped the roof of the cab with his cane to signal the driver.

"Why thank you monsieur. I wore it expressly to annoy you!"

"I do not doubt it."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Words cannot describe the totally unexpected fuzzy feeling I am now addicted to as a result of your reviews...you know who you are! This might be moving a bit slowly for some people but hey it's like this...the longer you leave the pressure cooker on the gas, the better the explosion when it blows!Mwuhahahahaha. Poor Erik. There is another A/N relevant to this chapter but so as not to spoil the suspense it is at the bottom (don't you dare ruin it for yourselves by looking.). Enjoy, your reviews are helping me write this stuff I hope you know.**

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Chapter 6

By the time the hackney ground to a halt on boulevard de Strasbourg the dawn had broken and Paris was waking up. Erik paid the driver giving him enough of a tip to forget them but not too much so that he would begin to remember again. He had never been here before and the sheer size of the imposing building in front of him took his breath away. The main entrance to the Gare de l'Est had an enormous fan shaped window above which was a huge statue of a woman seated on a throne holding a key in her right hand and a staff in her left. "This must be Strasbourg" he muttered to himself.

"I think you will find it is Paris" Meg shook her head at Erik's nonsense.

"I was referring to the enthroned lady above the fanlight actually." Erik pointed skyward so she could see what he was talking about. "Although I have never seen it I have read about it. She represents the city of Strasbourg as that was the first destination when the station opened 1849. The building itself is Romanesque and was designed by Francois Duquesney. The sculptor was Lemaire if you are interested." Erik sniffed knowledgably and made to join her walking towards the entrance.

In his quiet appreciation for the architecture he had remained oblivious to the other people beginning to gather outside the busy terminus. He was quite overcome by the very fact that he was standing outside the busiest train station in his city among people. His senses were inundated with the sounds of paper and flower sellers competing for custom and the smell of fresh pastries wafting from the vendors outside. Wondrously he took in the sight of men, women and children rushing and bustling about their business completely oblivious to him. He had never been so close to so many people. It was dizzying. Meg noticed him sway slightly and rushed to brace him with her hand at his elbow. "I am quite alright Meg…it is just so overwhelming."

"I know. _I_ am finding it a little intimidating so I cannot imagine what it must be like for you. Use your cane. You can practice limping!"

They made their way through the great arched portico and were both assaulted by the magnified clamour of a hundred voices all at once, piercing whistles announcing imminent departures and the distinctive hiss and chug of steam engines rolling in and out of the grand station. Erik's eyes darted nervously about him as he noticed several people glance his direction. This is what he was afraid of; the stares and the inevitable horror in the eyes of the innocent.

Meg knew by the edgy set of his features and clenching of his fists that he wanted to run and hide in the nearest shadow.

"Erik, do try to relax. No one is staring and if they are it is likely because my dress is too tight. People are naturally curious and everyone watches everybody else when they are out and about. It is practically a pastime in Paris. There are those who spend hours sitting in cafés just watching the world go by and the people in it." Meg tried to reassure him with words since she could not exactly hold his hand like she wanted to.

Erik pondered on this and considered what she had said. Perhaps they were not really staring at him particularly; rather just being curious in general. It was something he was not used to and still not entirely comfortable with. Perhaps once they made it out of Paris it would be different. Meg was his crutch now until that happened. He could not help the small smile as he recognized that she had poked fun at herself to make him feel less uneasy about _himself_ and this was also something he was unfamiliar with. He had never experienced what it felt like to bask in the warmth of another until she came to find him and yet another little chunk of ice slid away from his heart. In all the time he had lavished on Christine, she had been the one bathing in his attention but he realized now that she had never reciprocated. Meg had said he was in her care…it was a strange but not unpleasant feeling knowing that the little dancer was trying to make things better for him as no one ever had. That alone made her unique in his eyes.

They walked towards the ticket booths both feeling like new seeds freshly cast into the wind waiting to see where they would take root. Meg turned to Erik and laid a hand on his arm. "Let me check with the information office and find out when the next train is. If you will give me some francs I will purchase our tickets." Erik handed her a fistful of bills not having the first clue how much it would cost, frowning as he did so. "Did I not halve this with you before we left?"

Meg threw her eyes up reluctant to have this particular conversation now. At least he was concentrating on something other than himself for a change. She leaned closer to him, going on her toes to reach his ear so no one would hear her but him.

"It is in my corset." she whispered. "I will explain later but I cannot very well get it out here now can I? Wait here and do not disappear on me; I will not be long." Before he had a chance to respond, except to recover from the shiver her warm breath against his neck had sent unbidden down his spine; she was gone in a flurry of skirts, full of purpose and a confidence in her absolute right to be there amongst her peers that he feared he would never have.

Although, she had noticed it when he had helped her into the hackney earlier it was only now when it when her face was close to his that Meg allowed the sensation to finally register. It made her nose twitch and the back of her neck itchy in a feeling that she recognized from when she had been bathing. Know she knew what it was. His scent. He smelled nice she supposed; of sandalwood and something else, something not altogether safe…him probably.

With no option but to do as he was told, he sat on a nearby bench with their luggage and waited for her to return, watching the other travellers as they all went about their own business. Aside from the rushing, they all seemed so normal. It was second nature to them to be at ease amongst their fellow man. Music was second nature to him. It was still very early so the huge station had not yet reached full capacity yet seemingly hundreds of men, women and children milled around him oblivious to his face. Yes they often glanced his way but he could see now that they were doing the same to everyone else and it meant nothing.

Pulled out of his thoughts by Meg who had returned in the same bustling manner that she had left, Erik lifted his one visible eye to her face.

She was up to something, that Erik knew for certain. She was positively shaking with excitement in front of him as she clutched what he assumed to be the tickets in her gloved hands.

"Well then, where to Mademoiselle?"

Meg decided at the last moment to draw this out. She was fairly confident that she had made the right decision as there had been two trains due to leave at around the same time. She wanted to give him something she suspected he had never had; something she had always taken for granted. At birthdays or Christmas when her mother would give her a gift she would always pester her to divulge what was beneath the coloured paper. "It is a surprise," she would say and Meg always knew it would be just what she wanted and the anticipation of it would give her butterflies in her stomach. That feeling was precious.

"You will see! It is a surprise."

"Fine," Erik sighed dramatically, thinking it did not signify as her keeping it a secret was not going to alter the ultimate outcome. He would find out soon enough so he would let her have her fun. "Lead the way then since you seem to know what you are doing."

Erik was easier now with letting her take over. He did not really have the strength for figuring things out like where the platform was and timetables, being already preoccupied enough just navigating his way through the throngs heading in both directions. He was lightheaded from it, too much was happening in his head all at once and he could not wait for some quiet where he could maybe lie down and give his mind a rest.

Meg stopped dead, almost tripping Erik who was directly behind her and immediately a felling of dread overtook her at the realization that they had completely forgotten about the one thing they would need to get away from France.

"Erik you do have papers? Please tell me you have some sort of identification or else we will have a problem at the border control. How stupid of me; when would you have ever needed such a thing? You idiot Meg!"

Her mother had made sure it was the first thing she packed for her just in case she would forget herself but she had forgotten to check with Erik.

She was babbling now and working herself into a state of utter panic. "Do not fret ma petite. I may not have had use for them before but it may surprise you to know that I do in fact have papers. I will not say they are entirely official but they will serve their purpose just the same." Erik had never been so glad that he had thought to procure them months before during a time when he had begun stashing his emergency supplies in the tiny room where she had found him. There really had been no end to Antoinette's usefulness or questionable connections.

Meg's relief was palpable and immediately she was on her way again, so quickly that Erik almost lost sight of her and had to hurry to catch up.

A huge sign hanging above their heads announced that Platform 2 was imminent as they continued down the length of the vast main hall of the Gare de l'Est. Just as the whistles and hisses of steam were becoming too much to even think let alone hear; Meg spotted their destination. In front of them were the shiny black carriages emblazoned in elaborate gold lettering. Thinking quickly Meg spun on her heel before Erik had a chance to realize where they were, reaching up to cover his one visible left eye with her left hand, snaking her right around his back.

"What on earth are you doing? Meg?" He had been concentrating on the back of her head for fear that he would lose her again and so had not realized the she had turned towards him so quickly. He had dropped the bags and was trying to pry her hand away from his face while simultaneously and instinctively indulging in the feel of her other arm which had appeared at his back.

"I cannot see!" He hated this feeling of disorientation especially as he was in the middle of a crowd of people.

"Oh stop being such a grouch. I _told_ you it was a surprise and I did not want you to see until _I_ decided seeing as it is my surprise." She could feel him rolling his eye under her fingertips as she waited for the sulky look to disappear.

"Is not the suspense just killing you?" She knew it was as he was grinding his teeth again. Were she not so sure of him she would be very afraid he might snap her neck.

"Damn it woman! Just let me see." He would cheerfully strangle her later.

Then almost as quickly as she had placed it there, her hand was gone as his eye adjusted to the light again. He noticed absently that she still had not removed her other hand. More pressing was the sight before him. There standing at Platform 2, just where Meg said it would be was their train out of Paris. Through the clouds of steam rising up from under the platform he could clearly see the gold letters standing out from the flat black background and his heart fully stopped.

Venice-Simplon Orient Express.

Erik thought of his old home, the only one he had known, the lake and his little black and gold boat. There was only one other place he felt he may ever feel at home, a place he had read about and dreamt of many times.

"Venice." The word fell like a prayer from his lips as he turned to look at Meg unable to disguise the moisture he knew was gathering in his eyes.

Meg's face was lit up with the nervous anticipation of his response and her hands were now fisted together under her breast, having come around to face him to better watch his reaction.

"I knew it, I knew it! I just thought of your boat and the lake and masquerades and knew that was where you needed to be."

Venice. The city of bridges, canals and masks and some said the most beautiful city in the world. A dream he had not dared dwell on was about to come true for him and it was all because of her. She was, he acknowledged, brilliant. She barely knew him yet astonishingly she already understood him better than anyone.

Meg was practically jumping up and down on the spot now, clapping her hands together and drawing quite a bit of attention to herself in the process. Her excitement was utterly infectious and Erik was gripped with the sudden and incomprehensible desire to crush her to him and kiss the breath right out of her. God where was his mind going? He knew exactly where and he tried to extinguish the urge as quickly as it had gripped him. It was just that her enthusiasm was filling him with all kinds of possibilities that he never imagined would be. He never thought he would leave the Opera House, nor did he ever think of _not_ leaving. He just never dreamed beyond his tiny corner of the Paris underground. He never allowed it because that way lay madness. With the madness of possibilities and the possibility of madness still racing around his head he became conscious of Meg attacking his shoulder, poking him with her index finger right on the bone. It made him want to swat at her like a fly that would not stop buzzing. How would he ever cope with her?

"Come on or we shall miss it which would be an unmitigated disaster. We would have to wait for the next train and you really do not want to be on _that_." Meg had been watching him slipping into some sort of trance for the past few moments; noticing how his mouth softened and his eyes had gone all liquid and wide. Eager for him to snap out of it and be on their way she had no option but to resort to violence. He could continue his little daydream on the train.

Startled out of his reverie, Erik picked up on the urgency in her voice and stood up, collecting their bags as he did so. "Where does the next train go to that is so objectionable?"

"Nanterre! We would not even be out of Paris!"

"Perish the thought.

Spotting a liveried porter, Meg showed him their tickets and allowed him to escort them onto the train, while he followed with their bags. Erik refused to allow anyone touch his violin so he kept that with him. Making their way through the carriage she was struck by the feeling of being completely underdressed. Her fellow travelers were quite obviously of a class well above her as was apparent by their finery of silks and feathers. Erik, despite the yards of bandage around his head managed to blend in amongst the well heeled far better than she had. He might not necessarily feel the part but he certainly looked it with his expensively tailored suit and fine wool cloak. She would never be able to travel like this as the fares were outrageous but Erik could well afford it having demanded each month almost as much as the managers had received in an entire year!

Their porter stopped at a wooden door about half way along the carriage and turned the handle affording them the first view of their quarters. Meg had reserved a cabin suite as it had a separate sleeping area; she thought it incredibly wasteful to purchase two separate cabins and would be quite happy sleeping on the banquette she knew would be in the separate lounge area. The porter deposited the bags on the luggage rack above the higher of the two bunk beds in the sleeping compartment and turned to leave.

"Madame, Monsieur…your private steward will attend to you shortly. Meals are served in the restaurant car at the front of the train or you may chose to dine privately. We will depart in about ten minutes so I shall wish you both a pleasant journey." He bowed to each of them in turn and pocketing the tip Meg handed him from her change, disappeared down the corridor.

Closing the door of the cabin Erik stared in wonder around him noticing Meg almost fell onto the banquette, immediately pulling off the boots that had been causing her a myriad of minor discomforts since she put them on. The space provided was not any larger than the small room they had hidden in for the previous nights but it had all of the luxury that the other room did not. To his right were a sleeping compartment with two bunks one above the other fully made up with fine Egyptian cotton bed linen and a tall wooden cabinet with wash basin. To his left, where Meg was currently removing various articles of annoyance from her person was a long banquette, foot stool and small table. He could sleep in there as there was plenty of linen.

"Sit down Erik for goodness sake. You are making me nervous." Meg felt the room was quite small enough without Erik remaining standing thereby reducing it to the size of a matchbox.

He removed his cloak with a flourish, picked his gloves from his hands one finger at a time and laid the entire on the lower of the two bunks. "What was your mother's name before she was married? I only ask because when the steward arrives he will likely ask our names and while no one knows or will recognize mine, yours is another matter." He wanted to ensure that any and all of their tracks were covered as far as possible.

"I had not thought of that. It was Richemont. Do you want me to change my first name too or may I still be Meg?"

"No, you will always be Meg but you could use Marguerite I suppose as it is more formal."

"Why do you not call me that since you are so incredibly formal?" Meg questioned frostily.

"You introduced yourself to me as Meg but I will call you Marguerite if you wish it." He had no idea where this was going but he suspected she was becoming irritable from lack of sleep just as he was.

"No I do not wish it but thank you for asking. As you say I will always be Meg." She had felt like starting an argument with him again but realized it was not his fault that her feet hurt and she was so tired. They would not reach Venice until sometime the following afternoon so she had better find another outlet for her frustration or they would kill each other.

Erik came and sat next to her on the banquette; both of them watching the last minute hustle and bustle on the platform outside. He thought of the past days, the havoc he had wreaked, the damage he had caused and the lives ruined because of it not least the young woman beside him. She had come searching for him, had heard his cries of pain and had reached out to help him. His life as he knew it had been ripped at the seams and his heart and soul with it. She appeared to want to help him put it back together again. Meg was so very different from Christine. He was beginning to know how her mind worked although it was an effort to keep up with it. He knew she was kind because she had showed him kindness, he knew she was brave because she was still here with him. He knew she had a good heart because she saw past what he had been and done. She was also immune to his scheming and intrigue in a way that her friend had not been as she had seen through the façade of the Phantom to the man beneath. Still he suspected he had not entirely lost his touch as evidenced by her total submission in her mother's bedroom. He knew what happened bothered her immensely as she hated not being in control and that she was convinced he had put her under some sort of hypnotic spell. If she only knew it had been her that had cast the spell…to the point where the perfume of that rose oil even now suspended in the air of their tiny cabin was devastating his senses. Would that memory forever haunt him?

With a jolt Meg realized they were moving, having missed the muffled sound of the whistle outside for the past minute or so, and oblivious to all but the scent of the man beside her. Erik turned slightly where he sat and reached across for her tiny hand enveloping it in both of his. She looked down at her lap to where his two hands enclosed hers. They were strong hands, musicians' hands that could coax or kill. They held hers firmly yet with a gentleness that betrayed the heart of the lonely soul beside her. She dared to look up and was again trapped in the floodlights of his one good eye.

"Meg, I will be forever in your debt and for what you have done for me I will defend you to my dying breath. Thank you." She tried to swallow the painful lump in her throat and tried in vain to stop the tears spilling over her eyelids and chasing traitorously down her cheeks. He was too much. She could not speak to reply so she just nodded her head. He seemed to understand and was happy to continue the silence, squeezing her hand in his as they were pulled slowly out of Paris.

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**A/N So I have used total artistic licence with the train journey (Eriks architecture nerdiness stuff is true, yay for google) but for any of you that check stuff like this, the first Orient Express journey was not until about 1883 (Paris-Vienna)I think and the Simplon tunnel (which joins Switzerland and Italy) was not opened until 1906. It suits me to pretend otherwise and the timeline is not so far away so hope you will forgive! Shame on you if you read this before the chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Here it is guys...this killed me because really what does one do in a train for 24 hours! Anyway hope it works. Can I just say a huge thanks to everyone who has been following and reviewing this...it keeps me on my toes. A special mention has to go to Ace of Gallifrey for the inspiring comments and invaluable suggestions... Enjoy!**

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Chapter 7

Barely a minute had passed since they had left Paris when an efficient sounding rap on the door of the cabin announced the steward. Meg sprang from the banquette like she had been burned, tearing her hand from Erik's. She moved off the seat to let the man in but not before noticing that Erik had disappeared; only the briefest movement of the sleeping compartment door and the breath of air he left in his wake betraying him. How the devil does he do that? She really wanted him to show her how to move like that someday. Straightening her dress and fixing the hated bonnet she opened the door.

"Bonjour Madame, I am Gaston and it is my pleasure to welcome you to the Orient Express. I trust your quarters are satisfactory?" A slip of a man sporting a moustache and white gloves bowed exaggeratedly in the doorway; his name sown into his waistcoat in gold lettering.

"Yes, quite... thank you."

"And Monsieur?" His party piece continued, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her travelling companion.

"My employer is resting. He is not a well man and should not be disturbed. I am sure you understand." She did not want him being all efficient and attentive knocking at all hours of the day and night. Erik would be a nervous wreck!

"But of course! You are the nurse, yes?" He looked to be congratulating himself on his brilliant deduction while gesturing to her wretched hat. "The poor man. It is regrettable he is not to enjoy the journey in the full of his health. You shall no doubt prefer to dine privately and as most of our guests will be in the Restaurant car, I can assure you a peaceful and quiet evening." He smiled brightly, utterly in his element.

Oh just get on with it! Meg knew he had to do this but she really just wanted him to say his piece and leave. Mmmm...she could smell warm pain au chocolat somewhere nearby and her mouth was watering.

"Dinner is usually served at nine but can of course be altered to suit your needs. Shall I have your lunch ready for one? In the meantime I shall leave you with the morning papers and some refreshments." Gaston swept back out only to return a second later with a small cart filled with pastries, fruit and coffee. "Please do not hesitate to ring the bell on the wall should you require anything at all." With another of his signature bows he was gone.

Finally! Meg fell on the pastries hunting for the one she knew hid the gooey warm chocolate inside. "Come out, come out wherever you are" she sang to the door of the sleeping compartment, deliberately waving her pastry and the coffee pot in the same direction.

The door opened a fraction, the toe of one boot appearing at the floor and the fingers of one hand wrapping around the frame. Finally they were joined by the rest of him as the smell of buttery croissants and steaming coffee became too much for Erik to resist.

"I thought he would never leave!" he exclaimed and moved to mount an assault on the huge basket of pastries. Meg swatted his hand away before he got near it, a warning look in her eyes. "Anything but the pain au chocolat. In fact you can have everything with cinnamon in as I cannot abide it but do NOT touch the chocolate ones. Coffee?" She finished her threat with a bright smile and proceeded to pour two cups, handing one to Erik. She realised as she handed it over that he was staring at her in the most peculiar way that was almost a smile. "What? What do you find so amusing?" She would be damned if he would smile at her for no reason especially as he _never_ smiled. It was decidedly unsettling.

"Your face...it looks quite delicious." His eye was sparkling with what could only be described as devilment and the left side of his mouth was turned up so that he was positively smirking at her now and she did not like it one bit. She stamped her foot and marched into the other compartment to the mirror above the washstand and looked at her reflection. Damn you to hell Erik! She had chocolate all over her face most specifically on her nose and chin. She ripped a towel from the pile underneath, wet one corner and scrubbed violently at her skin until she was sure she had torn flesh. She could hear a low rumbling sound from next door and spun on her heel pulling the door open with force. It was not possible! Never. She would kill him. Erik was standing where she left him chuckling to himself, shaking his head and more than half way through one of her precious pain au chocolat!

Erik turned and feasted his eye on the picture of irritation standing before him. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her nose and chin red from the scrubbing she had inflicted. Hands on her hips, she looked up at him with her eyes narrowed in fury. He countered with a raised eyebrow. She could stamp her feet all she liked around him but it would get her nowhere! He place his hands on her shoulders and steered her to the banquette, giving her a little push so she would sit down then wordlessly he handed over her cup of coffee. Erik picked that morning's edition of Paris Matin from the cart and seated himself next to Meg placing the basket of pastries between them. Not a word passed between them and he considered it vital to Meg's current frame of mind that it remain so.

Curling her feet under her on the banquette she tried desperately to make herself comfortable determined to not let Erik get to her. She leaned over the basket to see what he was reading, his silence infuriating her. The front page declared "Populaire Madman Presumed Dead!" and she read on. The police having found no trace of a body under the Opera House and assuming he had no way of escape had come to the conclusion that the masked intruder who had kidnapped the future Vicomtesse de Chagny had drowned in the lake. Incompetent Fools! She supposed she should be grateful; there would be no bloodhounds on their heels. She continued reading...the famous tenor Ubaldo Piangi had lost his life but had actually been strangled, the police believed; so the masked man could take his place. Oh no! Had Erik nothing to say? Surely he had read it too. She pulled the paper from his hands and frowned at him.

"Yes?" Erik enquired, raising his eyebrow as if he was speaking to a four year old.

"Well? Did you read it? According to this you are dead. AND you murdered Piangi! I do not know whether to laugh or cry. Erik?"

"Do not believe everything you read in the papers ma petite. It should be quite obvious to you that I am not dead . As for Piangi...it was regrettable. He should not have died, I only rendered him unconscious and I do NOT make mistakes. At least they will not be looking for us so there is no need for tears." He truly believed the fat tenor was still breathing when he dropped him to the floor behind the stage two nights ago. Two nights? Is that all it had been? It felt like an eternity and was getting longer by the minute no thanks to the spitting cat sitting next to him.

Meg knew that Erik or more correctly The Phantom had killed that lecherous creep Joseph Buquet and if she was completely honest she was almost grateful for it. He had been an irrefutable menace, praying on anything with a skirt, constantly drunk and prone to fits of rage that turned quickly to violence. She and her mother had seen with her own eyes the result of some of his best 'work'; black eyes, broken jaws and one young chorus girl would never dance again thanks to him. The Opera Ghost had done every woman at the Populaire a favour when he let the head fly man swing from his neck. But Piangi? His only crime was getting in the way. Yet Erik claimed not to have murdered him. She was inclined to believe that he was incapable of lying yet could he really know what he had done that night? He mind had been fractured, lost to the minutiae of his great scheme to win over the heart of Christine. Would she have been worth it? Somehow Meg doubted that the reality would have been something Erik could have handled. Christine would never have questioned him, challenged him or scolded him. She believed her young friend would probably have been reduced to a whimpering mess, her emotions always so close to the surface that she would have crumbled in the face of his instability. Not entirely emotionally secure herself; Christine would have been ill equipped to handle the shifting moods and persuasive personalities that fought for dominance in the man sitting next to her. Erik? He would have been bored rigid within a week! Still she felt sad that he had lost someone he considered dear to him. She stared vaguely out the window to the scenery flying past, France bursting to life with the onset of Spring. What would Venice be like now? She could not imagine a city built entirely on the water.

It was all too much for Erik. Having been distracted from his problems for the better part of the past two days it seemed he was now at liberty to fall apart. Meg was currently incapable of carrying a conversation due in no small part to his declaration as they left Paris and the content of the morning papers; which he conceded was probably for the best. He was not in the habit of blurting things out as he had but it would not be the first time she had driven him to say something unexpected. He had only wanted her to know that he realised how much she had done for him. He just wished he had not made her cry. She always seemed so tough, so unbreakable that it was a shock to see he could reduce her to tears with his own words.

As promised, Gaston reappeared promptly at one to deliver yet more food. Meg could have sworn Erik could hear him coming from the opposite end of the train as he vanished not a second before the steward knocked on the door. Lunch was uneventful; Meg careful not to give Erik any more opportunity to laugh at her eating habits. The steward had informed her they would stop at Innsbruck in the morning where they would need to have their papers ready for Swiss border control, finally arriving in Venice that evening. She was beginning to wish never to be on a train again. She longed for the space to put on her practice shoes and stretch her limbs. It had been days since she danced and she was feeling on edge. Ever since he had held her hand and said those words there had been a variety of uncomfortable silences, neither she nor Erik knowing quite what to say to one another. She was tired of arguing with him and her head hurt from trying to figure out what madness had overtaken him the night of the fire. She suggested he try to sleep for a while partly because she knew he needed it but also so she could breathe again and maybe rest herself. His presence in the tiny space was so totally overwhelming and she was incapable of relaxing around him. She cursed the oversight that meant she forgot to take a blanket from the other room before he had gone in so she would have to make do with her coat. Curling up on the banquette she pulled her coat over her head waiting for the motion of the train to lull her to sleep.

He was so tired. He could not form coherent thoughts anymore and his limbs felt like lead. He hoped Meg would sleep as he was fast realising that her fuse shortened alarmingly when she was weary. Erik removed his boots, coat and vest and climbed onto the small bunk, barely wide enough for his broad frame and stretched out his arms like a bird testing its wings. He had absolutely nowhere to be for the next few hours so with his new bodyguard keeping watch in the next room he supposed it would be alright to close his eyes for just a little while.

Opening into darkness, Erik's left eye tried to focus on a tiny shaft of light below him. Where was he? He could not remember the last time he had woken in darkness, always leaving candles burning before snatching brief moments of slumber, usually draped over his organ. The rhythmic clatter of train on tracks permeated his consciousness bringing him fully awake. Venice! He had slept far longer han he had ever done before and now he remembered where he was going. He also remembered why. He recalled the rose scented dream that had been marred by flame filled nightmares, sparkling crystals raining from the sky. He touched a hand to his face, bound in cloth to hide his ruined cheek and relived the moment he had been betrayed; the sweet face of the one he proclaimed to love twisting unpleasantly as she sealed his fate. Anger built inside him as he recognised the horrified gasps and screams of his captive audience; the feeling of air touching the right side of his face, barely registering his mask and wig floating aimlessly to the stage far below. Erik's heart began to pound a leaden beat as he walked through his nightmare like the ghost he felt. Reliving every second with heightened senses, he saw the moment the chandelier ripped through the dome as he dropped through the floor with the wind rushing past his ears falling, falling, falling with his love in his arms. No! No! No! Make it stop! She could never do that to me. Liar! She would never betray me!

Tears flooding through the soaked bandage he clasped his hands to his face to try and fight the images that would not stop. His eyes felt like they would burst out of their sockets and his head pounded from the blood boiling through his veins. Curling into a ball and wrapping his arms around himself Erik tried to shut the memories out. Let me be. Stop this torture. Stay with me...help me make the music...

Shivering uncontrollably, his shoulders quaking and teeth chattering; he rolled to face away from the light on the floor praying for the darkness to envelope him. A low moan rumbled deep inside his chest with a pressure that he could not force down. With a desperate intake of breath Erik gave the unwelcome cry a voice and found he could not stop.

Meg sprang from her uncomfortable position curled like a cat under her coat. Erik! She had jumped up at the roar thumping at her ears even before her eyes had opened. Skidding to a halt at the door she inched it gingerly ajar not wanting a repeat of the last time she had approached him in the dark. "Erik," she called softly. "ERIK!"

Nothing.

She widened the gap in the door letting the light flood across the floor and up to where he lay. He faced the wall, powerful tremors travelling violently from his shoulders all the way down his back. She could make out the curve of his spine through the fine cotton that was now transparent against his fevered skin. Oh Erik.

"Erik" Meg tried again to get through his nightmare so he would hear her.

Nothing.

Unable to help herself, tears sprang to her own eyes at the sight before her. She could not bear it. He was in so much pain and she did not know how to make it stop for him. Pull yourself together Meg; you are no use to him if you fall apart too!

Swiping the moisture from her eyes she bit her lip, moved closer to the bunk and gripped his shoulders in her hands. The reverberation from his chest worked its way through her hands into her ribcage until she could feel every wave of pain, every shudder, and every tremble. "Erik, stop this. It is Meg, MEG!" His breathing hitched slightly and she moved closer getting right behind him. Keeping her right hand just below his neck she moved her left hand slowly from his shoulder along his bent arm to lay it against the hand that was holding his face in a death grip. Tilting her face down close she whispered into his ear, pressing her fingers gently against his. "Ehhrrik"

A low moan escaped as another shudder overtook him. "Shshshshsh...Ehhrrik... let it go. Breathe." Little by little the shivering subsided punctuated by the odd hitch in his breath. Gradually he allowed her fingers to slip between his and Meg was able to gently prise his hand away from his face.

"Meg?" Erik's voice was barely a whisper, having stretched his vocal cords to their limit.

"Yes, who else? You woke me up thank you very much!" Meg attempted to lighten the mood.

"I...I did not mean to...to disturb you. You did not have to come in. You should not have come in." He was mortified yet again at her witnessing his total failure to keep himself together. Would he always be a shuddering mess in her eyes?

"Erik do you think me completely heartless? I was only teasing about you waking me! I found you in a far worse state than this remember?" She shifted slightly and moved to kneel on the carpet beside him; her left arm still draped over one colossal shoulder and her hand trapped in his like a lifeline. She could feel his breathing slowly returning to normal, his heartbeat thudding reassuringly steady against her chest. She was not exactly comfortable but she would stay like this as long as he needed her to.

Erik struggled to push the horrific images from his broken mind and concentrate instead on the feel of his little friend's warm hand in his, her tiny body held close to his back. The shame he felt at being so weak was overpowered by the feeling of being cared for, looked after, something he had only ever felt since she had come to find him. She made him feel...safe.

Please GO AWAY! An insistent rapping from next door shattered the first moment of true peace Erik had felt in months and he wanted to scream. He felt Meg pull her hand from his and the shiver creeping up his spine at the loss of her warmth.

"That will be Gaston with dinner, I had no idea it was so late." Meg was all efficiency again as she made to leave Erik's side to answer the door. "I will see to him, come out when you are ready" she whispered softly to the darkness.

When Erik had finally built up enough courage to face her again he pulled himself up from the tiny bunk and dressed for dinner. His bandages had begun to unravel and were soaked with tears and sweat but he daren't remove them. How could he expect anyone to look at him let alone eat without his mask? When he was sure the impeccably timed Gaston had left he hesitantly opened the connecting door and let the aroma of well cooked food entice him into Meg's company for dinner.

Poor Erik! Meg winced at the sight of her indomitable friend's face, the yards of bandage coming apart and obviously uncomfortable. She would leave him be to have something to eat and then deal with them later.

Dinner passed without event; neither able to each much of anything, the past hours events weighing heavily on both of their minds. Erik wanted to hide from her knowing eyes but realising it was pointless as she had seen and heard enough already. He dearly wished to smother the part of him that could not contend with the demons in his head. Meg wanted to scream at the indignity of it. She knew he hated her seeing him when he fell apart but equally that it had helped in some small way. She was afraid of leaving him alone again lest he succumb to terrible nightmares when he slept through the night.

"Do you think you would mind very much if I stayed in the spare bunk tonight? I promise not to snore; it is just that I really do not feel altogether comfortable out on the banquette by myself all night..." She prayed he would not now suggest he sleep out in the lounge area instead but thought that his inherent necessity to protect her would win out.

Erik swallowed nervously as he envisioned a scantily clad and incredibly vulnerable Meg dreaming above him in the tiny room and thought he would mind very much indeed! Was she deliberately trying to kill him? But what could he say...he dare not refuse her. "If you must but I shall put you out if you chatter." Gruffly he acquiesced but certainly did not want her to think he was in any was happy about it.

Erik let Meg remove his bandages trying not to think about her being able to see his entire face and instead kept his eyes closed while she worked. She had somehow convinced him to leave them off while he slept arguing that he would be dreadfully uncomfortable if he kept them on. She was right again he supposed but he was uneasy knowing she would be not three feet away from his utterly naked face all night. He waited apprehensively in the lounge while Meg got into her bunk and listened for her to tell him it was safe to enter. He felt sick to his stomach suddenly and did not think he would find sleep again anytime soon.

Meg climbed up the tiny ladder to the top bunk and struggled out of her horrid navy dress in the dark. She left it draped over the end of her bed, the full skirt dangling like a curtain at the end of Erik's. Faster than she had ever undressed in her life she unlaced her corset and removed it from under her chemise complete with the bundles of cash she had been hiding there since earlier that morning. Oh the relief! She would have to sleep in her chemise but she did not care because that nasty stifling corset was gone. Falling back on her soft pillow she drew her tired body beneath the soft cool sheets and called out to the dark. "You can come in now!"

He was definitely going to be sick. He put out the gas lamps before pulling the door behind him and steadfastly ignoring anything higher than the top of his own bed. He sat down in the dark pulling his boots off once again, following them with his coat and vest. He did not dare remove anything else. Climbing under the sheets again he turned on his right side facing the wall indulging in the feeling of the soft cool linen on his sensitive skin. He could hear Meg breath gently above him in the pitch dark. He concentrated on listening to the sounds of her moving about, rustling the crisp sheets as she tried to get comfortable enough to sleep and then she started.

"Erik...tell me about Venice."

It was going to be an awfully long night.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N This one's a little shorter...thank God! Finally. No more trains! EVER. Don't know if anyone spotted it but I absentmindedly referred to Innsbruck in ch 7 as being in Switzerland which of course it's not. Apologies! Thanks so much for the reviews...they are like oxygen to me now. Really. Anyway, enjoy this little breather.**

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Chapter 8

Meg woke early having slept like the dead. The last thing she remembered was Erik's velvety voice; he had been explaining about the Bridge of Sighs although she could not remember much of what he had said. Swinging her head over the edge to look beneath her she noticed with relief that Erik was still asleep. He had not woken her so she presumed he had had an uneventful night. Dressing quickly she quietly she slipped out into the lounge to await the steward with breakfast.

The little chatterbox had finally fallen asleep thanks to his relating the entire history of Venice for the past three hundred years. Erik had lain awake for hours afterwards staring at the bunk above him wondering what it would be like to sleep like that. Quiet, restful, peaceful. He had listened, his back to her, still as an owl watching a mouse while she dressed in the dawn light before leaving him to his thoughts.

Later, lulled by the smell of breakfast he went to open the door to the lounge and then stopped abruptly as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His face was bare! He had not even realised it and he would have to go in there and let Meg see him.

Meg watched the door open finally and beheld man that walked through it. She observed the long powerful legs, the narrow waist and broad torso clad in a burgundy silk vest, the wide straight shoulders and knew that her old adversary from her bath was gracing her with his presence. Erik must be taking the morning off! Her eyes finished their journey and suddenly she knew why. His right hand covered the marred side of his face but otherwise he was just as she once remembered seeing him up on the catwalks. Tall, proud, mesmerising. All he was missing was his cape and he really did not have the space to use it to its full effect in this tiny room. Meg realised now thinking back over the times she had seen him before that he seemed to do this when he was unsure of himself, a fish out of water. This too was a mask, no different from the one he wore on his face. Beneath it all he was still Erik.

"Good Morning Meg, I trust you slept well?" Erik was all charm as he gave her a ghost of a smile.

There was an elephant in the room and Meg was not going to ignore it any longer, but out of respect for her friend she would not speak of it either.

"Good Morning Erik and yes, I slept like a baby thanks to you!" She moved quickly to retrieve her bag from the other room returning almost before he had a chance to question her.

"Sit." Meg motioned to the banquette and took a step towards him to highlight her intentions. Taking more clean rolls of bandage and a scissors from the bag, she gently began to wrap Erik's head once more. Neither spoke. Erik closed his eyes and found once again the place he had been before that irritant Gaston had shown up. The pain of laying himself bare like this was almost worth the feel of soft hands touching his marred flesh with no trace of fear or loathing. He felt her pinning the ends of his bandage and then for a blissful few seconds she let her hands rest on his shoulders before proclaiming him finished.

"Spectacular! I missed my calling! Now, would you like fruit or pastries?"

Amazing, he thought much later while the train was standing at the platform in Innsbruck. His little dancer had out manipulated the manipulator. He had been sitting with his eyes closed at the mercy of her ministrations almost before his unformulated brain registered her intent and her appraisal of his situation. She was proving incredibly astute in the short amount of time he had gotten to know her. He knew it would not be long before she would tackle him once more about the havoc he had created and if he were truthful he really had no idea what to say to her, where to begin, how to explain. He barely knew himself. He had gotten off lightly the previous day but he knew her well enough now to know she was just biding her time.

He had left her to deal with the steward while they waited for the officers to board. He had given Meg the only thing that proved he had existed on this earth aside from his bank account; his papers, altered though they were. His place of birth stated Montpellier and not Rouen. His was now an architect and not a composer and musician. He supposed it was not so far from the truth; it was all art. His rarely spoken name and unacknowledged date of birth were all that remained of his true origins. He was who he was and no one up until now really knew; those that did had promised to keep his secret. The Giry women. His saviours and protectors as it turned out. Had Antoinette kept Meg away on purpose so that she would be ready to help him when he would really need her? No, of course not but it made him feel a little less lonely to think of it that way. Her mother had never expressly told him to stay away from her but he always felt it was implied. Meg was her precious only child; pure, innocent and free of the knowledge of his pitiful existence and he was sure Antoinette had wished it so. Alas she had been overlooked, unnoticed until now and instead Meg's younger, parentless, lonely friend had called out to that same part of his soul that was broken. Therein lay the root of his downfall. Christine. The sad child who spoke to her father's spirit and he had listened.

He could hear men's voices now outside in the lounge, more than just Gaston 'the punctual'. He could feel his hands itching to caress the fibres of his lasso as the mere thought of the steward. He knew of course that he was just fulfilling his duties but really the little weasel managed to be maddening without even trying. His fingers were bored, that was his problem. It had been days since he had touched the silken ivories of the organ or drawn the bow gently across the strings of his beautiful violin. He had never gone this long without playing something, anything. It was a ritual, part of his routine, sacred. Some people prayed; he played. He played when he woke, before he slept and as the mood took him at any time in between. With no one to talk to he spoke to his instruments and they had always answered him. It was a conversation he needed to resume before he lost all control of his mind. Music, whether he wrote it, played it or paid homage to a fellow composer had never failed him, always succeeding in straightening the kinks in his mind and soul. He reached under the bed and pulled out the case that held his most prized possession. Sitting down he lifted his only mistress reverently onto his lap with both hands and raised her to his face inhaling her scent like a drug. He was instantly transported to his former home, the pungent aroma of burning wax and ink, the softly flickering light and the wonderful acoustics. He could not have built it better if he had designed it himself. No one could hear him play down there, his compositions lost to the lake, the rats and the dark. Christine was the only human being who had ever heard him play...just before she removed his mask for the first time. Once had not been enough it seemed where her betrayal was concerned! His beautiful fiddle would always be faithful and true, would always understand him, comfort him and speak to him. Filled with blissful memories of their life together he remembered fondly how she came to him. She was the first thing he had bought when he began drawing a salary; a newspaper left behind in the auditorium, an advertisement in the classifieds for an estate sale. The man had been a violinist, his destitute family selling off his worldly goods. She had been listed in the inventory. Stradivarius! He had found Antoinette and begged her to attend the auction, to pay any price and bring her back to him. She would sing for him again, just as soon as they got to Venice.

Meg was drawing on all of her almost eighteen years of experience dealing with stroppy singers; the two officers who had arrived to check their documents subjecting her to something akin the Inquisition. What is your employer's profession? How did he become injured? Why are you travelling to Venice? How long have you been in his service? You are very young to be a nurse, are you not? If only it were not impossible, she could really have used an intervention by her Opera Ghost. His particular brand of mind altering persuasion would have cut the encounter to mere minutes. She had never lied and embellished so much in her entire life and she was sure she would be heading straight for the depths of Hell for it. The two rigid and pompous looking men standing like dry sticks in the lounge each held an elaborate official stamp, holding them teasingly over the documents she had handed over.

"Oh just stamp the damned things and be gone. Fools! Horrid, horrid men! Where the devil is Erik when I could actually make use of him?" Meg screamed inside her head, dearly wanting to stamp her foot and tear her hair out but restrained herself in anxious anticipation of ink hitting paper.

Finally with a thud, Austria granted passage to Mlle. Marguerite Giry and M. Erik Destler.

Bowing violently the two sticks retreated almost taking each other and Gaston to the floor with their ridiculous swords as they turned. Meg had to bite her cheeks to keep from whooping with laughter at their incompetence and utter failure to impress her with their ceremony. The steward hung behind as they left. "Mademoiselle, we shall arrive in Venice just after five. I shall some bring refreshments shortly." Then he too took his leave.

Meg clenched her fists and danced on the spot, snatching up the two documents freshly stamped with the seal of the Kaiser in bold red ink.

Erik Destler, Male, Born 13 November 1836, Marseille, Eyes Green, Height 6 feet 2 inches.

That made him thirty five next birthday. Funny, she could not imagine him having such a thing. And his eyes were not green, they were blue green but then she supposed on those documents they must be one or the other. How much of it was real?

Erik stayed in the relative safety of the sleeping compartment until he felt the train pull out of Innsbruck once more, barely containing his curiosity before opening the door and joined Meg in the lounge.

"I can only assume since we are both still here that we have been admitted to Austria without trial." Erik was almost weak with relief. This had been his biggest fear on this journey. Now they were across the border; France was finally behind them.

"I confess your powers of deduction leave me quite breathless! Of course we have been admitted. Without trial you say? Did you not _hear_ the litany of untruths and myriad of stories I had to contrive to please those two self-important, pretentious twits? Surely with _your_ ears you cannot have missed it? Oh the questions, the interrogation. You owe me Erik Destler. Green eyes, born in Marseille. Do you hear me?" Meg stood with one hand on her hip, the other pointed at his chin, her eyes throwing sparks around the room. She had been so terrified of being caught out, they had asked so many questions; sometimes the same question in five different ways. She was dizzy.

"Meg, I do believe you were frightened! I cannot believe it. You are shaking with it! Sit down before you fall." Erik was incredulous. Brave, immovable Meg had been scared out of her wits of being rumbled by the Austrian guards but she had outwitted them all the same. Good girl. He was proud of her.

Throughout the afternoon Meg had alternately dozed and daydreamed, watching the changing scenery as it flew by in a blur. Erik sat beside her sharing pastries and drinking coffee with the latest edition of Paris Matin on his lap. She did not want to read anymore about what happened and he did not volunteer the information. Reading about it would not change what had really happened. She did not understand why he had felt compelled to hurt people as he did, perhaps he did not know either. She could only imagine the life he must have led down in the cellars, alone. He would tell her soon enough, she hoped and she would wait.

Erik had watched his brave little dancer as she nodded off throughout the afternoon, her head jerking as she fell awake each time, smiling to himself as she looked around to see if he had noticed. He had read the paper cover to cover, noting that he had been relegated to the inside page today. There had been talk of Piangi again, the Viscomte and his prize and when work would begin on the refurbishment of the Populaire. His greatest achievement it seemed was the loss of his love and the destruction of his only home. A monster he had been called and a monster he had become; the Devil's Child who had dared consort with the angels. He would be punished, of that he was sure.

They were nearing their destination he thought as he shifted in his seat, seeing as it was well after four. Meg was awake now staring at a spot on the glass. She turned to him at his movement.

"We will be there soon. Perhaps we should get ready, pack our things such as they are?" She rose and Erik followed her into the sleeping compartment where his violin lay on his bed. Damn! He had forgotten to put her away.

"Oh Erik! How beautiful...may I?" Meg gazed in awe at the stunning instrument on the sheets, the warm caramel wood aching to be touched.

He panicked suddenly at the thought of anyone laying a finger on his precious violin. No one but him had ever seen her before not even Christine, never mind touched her. But it was Meg. She would be careful with her.

"Alright." Erik swallowed the lump in his throat and winced as she picked up his life in her hands.

Meg sat on the bed and lifted the violin carefully with her two hands, reverently running her hands along its sides. She imagined Erik playing it, eyes closed, lost in its melody. "It is really quite beautiful Erik. Will you play it for me someday?"

"Yes, if you wish...someday." He took the violin from her hands and put his salvation back in her case and continued to put away rest of his things.

Venice was getting ready to go home for the evening by the time their train rattled across the great lagoon that separated it from the mainland. Dusk was falling and the glow from the gas lights mixing with the fog created a corona over the ancient city. Santa Maria station was their destination and after almost two whole days they were nearly there.

Meg's faced was pressed to the window and Erik had to restrain himself from doing the same. He was gripped with a feeling alien to him all these years, a feeling he thought entirely lost to him, a feeling he was more than a little afraid of. Hope.

"Meg look! St Mark's - Chiesa d'Oro, the Church of Gold" He placed his hand on her shoulder and pointed to the huge dome dominating the approaching skyline.

"I dared not believe I would ever see it." Erik stared in awe, afraid to blink lest it disappear.

The overwhelming relief that they had finally made it caused Meg to bite her trembling lip as she took in every spire and tower against the fading sky. She turned back to look at Erik who was glassy eyed like her, mouth open in wonder. They had done it. She put her tiny hand over his and squeezed.

"Welcome home Erik."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Thanks so much for the continuing reviews...they are proving invaluable to me. This one has turned out a little longer than usual but I hope it makes up for ch8. Behold Erik the nerd. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 9

Two days! It had been two days since they had finally arrived in Venice and it had rained non-stop since. Having left Paris early on the Monday morning it was now Thursday and Meg had seen nothing of it save for the inside of her room. They had booked into a small hotel as soon as they had arrived and when Meg awoke on Wednesday morning to the sound of thunder, she realised adventure was plainly off the menu. She had stared longingly out her window to the empty canal below, to the fat raindrops pelting the surface keeping all but the most intrepid travellers away. She had seen little of Erik since they had arrived, each having rooms at opposite ends of the hotel due to the proximity of Easter. She had wandered through the corridors yesterday after an early dinner to see if he was alright. She had stopped outside his room and was about to knock when she had heard the scratchy sounds of a violin. He sounded like he was tuning it and thought it best not to disturb him. She had instead gone down to communal sitting room where she picked out a guide book to Venice and settled into one of the armchairs to read. She had thought it wise to not be completely ignorant of where she had brought her friend and perhaps she may surprise him with her little knowledge.

This morning a shaft of bright sunlight pouring across her pillow had woken her and Meg was jubilant to find the canal below teeming with gondoliers ferrying goods and passengers under the blissfully clear sky. They would finally be able to go out and explore, maybe visit St Mark's Square and feed the pigeons. She desperately wanted to go and find Erik and not waste another minute of the glorious day they had been gifted. She wondered how he had been since they arrived, all on his own. "He would have been perfectly fine; he has lived his entire life on his own. Silly girl." Meg thought, feeling a little dejected. She was dying to take him outside and watch his reactions to seeing this city of his dreams coming to life. She had not slept particularly well last night, having lain awake for hours wondering if he was having more nightmares with no one there to comfort him. Now she just wanted to see if he was alright, if he had slept, if had eaten anything. She suspected if left to his own devices he would probably go for days forgetting to do both. Well that nonsense stopped here. He was under her watchful eye now and she would make sure that he did not put himself in an early grave from neglect. She wished she had gone back up to check on him when she finished reading but she had been so tired that it had completely slipped her mind. By the time it had occurred to her she had been about to get into bed and she did not think it at all appropriate for her to be flitting about in her chemise. She realised that she had missed him yesterday, actually missed him. Unbelievable! He irritated her, made fun of her, shouted at her and ignored her, not to mention his uncanny ability to get right under her skin, enough to make it itch. But he also fascinated her with his astonishing brain, the way he moved both seen and unseen, his ability to morph persona whenever he needed to and his wicked sense of humour that she had only barely seen a glimpse of but was determined to encourage. He alternately entranced and incensed her. Just when he was driving her to the point of exasperation he would do or say something that would completely knock the breath out of her and she would forget what he had done to annoy her. Erik was she supposed a mystery. A puzzle. There were some very dark pieces belonging to that puzzle in amongst the genius and the heart. She found it hard to reconcile the man she was coming to know with the utter devastation he had created. Her poor little friend had caught his eye and he had become a man possessed. She could not help feeling that had he never seen Christine and become fixated with her then none of this would have happened. He would remain unburdened by the atrocities he had committed and the destruction of their home and livelihood. But then he would still be alone, living underneath in the cold and she would never have found him. They would not be here in the most beautiful city in the world about to have the adventure of a lifetime. Meg believed in fate, believed that everything happened for a reason. The Italians called it destino. It was up to them now to decide what to do with it.

Erik was going quietly mad. For hours he had been awake gazing out his window at the Venetians going about their daily grind. He watched the delivery boys bringing fresh bread and vegetables to the hotel just after dawn, a bottle neck developing in the narrow canal as several merchants attempted to do business at the same time. They were all smiling good-naturedly as they poled away, where minutes before he had been sure a fight would break out judging by the shouting and wild gesticulating. Had Meg seen it too? Did she have a room with a view this fascinating? Was she even awake? He knew she possessed the ability to sleep deeply for hours but surely she could not sleep late on a morning like this. The thunderstorm of the previous day had cleared the air and blown every cloud from the sky so its reflection now sparkled on the surface of the water. He could not remember ever waking in sunshine, even in his miserable childhood memories. Shaking the unwanted thoughts from his mind he considered the possibility that Meg was probably indulging in the fact of his absence. He knew he irritated her but if he was perfectly honest the feeling was mutual. Quite how she did it he could not figure out but plainly she did. Despite her obvious flaws; crankiness, impatience, sarcasm to name but a few; his little dancer had stayed by his side and true to her word had spirited him away from the scene of his crimes. He was not used to company except his own. He was not in the habit of making conversation except to deliver threats. He was not accustomed to the presence of others in his life. She was a part of it now, always chattering away about anything and nothing and expecting him to respond accordingly. She asked him questions, looked for his opinion and listened intently for his reply like it actually mattered. No one had ever wanted to hear what he had to say about anything before, not that it had stopped him enforcing his wishes on the Populaire management. She infuriated him with her little stamping tantrums when he had annoyed her but conceded that he was secretly partial to seeing the sparks fly out of her eyes when he had really incensed her. Meg was transformed when she was angry, most especially when she was angry with him. She really did take on the properties of a feline when riled; her long hair flipping back and forth behind her, little fists clenched like she was restraining her claws, shoulders up around her ears and those eyes! Those lovely nut coloured eyes, normally so soft and warm positively liquefied when she was livid, narrowed lids and sharpened pupils with irises burning the colour of a low flame. They were magnificent and he wondered if his eyes had anything like the same effect. Did she anger him on purpose? Absurd! It was laughable. Meg would never do anything so calculatingly base. Not to mention his damaged right eye which was not quite, he thought, the kind of thing anyone would deliberately seek out...even if that someone was not totally appalled by it. She was the last thing he expected and truthfully at the present time the one person he most wanted to see.

Where was she anyway? He was burning with a desire to escape, even if that meant being outside, in daylight, among his fellow man. He was not as wary as he would have been in Paris. No one knew him here, not that they really did in Paris, but he felt as if that which he had thought impossible before was perhaps less so in this beautiful place. And he had Meg.

Think of her and she shall appear! A hesitant knock his door finally announced the arrival of his young friend.

"What the devil took you so long?" Erik demanded then instantly regretted it; he did not want Meg thinking he had been waiting for her like a drowning man watching for a lifeboat. "What I mean is that it is dry outside."

Silly man! As if I would not know he has been pacing the floor _all_ morning. He probably has not slept more than an hour in the last twelve. "Good morning to you too. I am fine and yes I slept extremely well thank you for asking." Meg smirked at her friend, knowing well that she would put him in bad form for the rest of the morning but really there was no need to be unmannerly. It was not like him.

"I do apologise. I am just inclined to go out and see everything. I am glad you managed to rest; I shall not insult your intelligence by telling you I slept like the dead." He knew that she knew he did not and there was no point lying about it.

"So the Angel of Impatience has got you in his grip again this morning hmm? Come on then Erik the Eager, let us explore your city. I have been reading about it you know. Perhaps I may teach you something!" She handed him his cloak and ushered him out the door, pulling it closed behind her.

"I doubt that." Erik knew everything there was to know about Venice. He was in possession of a million facts about a million subjects. How could she possibly know anything that he did not? He would humour her of course being a gentleman, if she did happen to come up with some gem along the way. Having arrived to the hotel by gondola they now left by the street entrance on the opposite side and were immediately hit by the reality that they were on quite possibly the narrowest street in the world. It was barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side. There was no way to pass. They would have to stay in single file as they could now see the Venetians doing, left side to the wall. Erik had no idea which way to turn, not having a map and for the first time in his recollection his sense of direction failed him. It was like a rabbit warren of tiny narrow streets that all looked exactly the same. He felt Meg's hand pull at his elbow.

"This way. I spoke to the concierge last evening and he told me to turn left out of the hotel and from there on everything important is signposted."

Meg was thrilled with herself. Erik thought himself an authority on absolutely everything and in fact most of the time he was but just this once he was at a total loss. She was quite enjoying the feeling of having him follow her down the narrow street when he would normally have led. He was like a lost puppy following her home and he had no choice in the matter! It was delicious. Meg though it would do him some good to be bowing to someone else's superior knowledge for a change. At the end of the street she saw the myriad of little signs for the Campanile, Pont de l'Accademia, and Dorsoduro which she knew was the next island across. There were more signs for places she did not recognise but only one she wanted to follow. She turned right, glancing behind to see if Erik was still following. He was turning his head from side to side trying to catch a glimpse of everything that they passed. Meg thought he looked just like one of those birds of prey that sit bobbing and twisting their heads almost all the way around. He was going to give himself whiplash before the day was through if he was not careful!

Erik was not in the humour to speak even if he could. Meg had already managed to trump him with the directions and he was far too busy soaking up Venice like a sponge. Every little street looked the same, some terminating in a little bridge and all with a plaque stating its name. Calle de la Verona, Rio Tera Degli Assassini, and now they were walking alongside a canal on Fondamenta Orseolo. The path had widened and Meg had slowed her pace in front of him, glancing back again to see if he followed. Where did she think he would go? She was the one with the directions in her head for a change. She was smiling at him now, eyes full of merriment. He had seen that look before, at Gare de l'Est.

"Erik close your eyes and give me your hand." Meg was on another surprise mission and hoped he had learned to trust her.

"Not again. Do you perchance have a surprise for me?" This was ridiculous; a grown man being led blindly by the hand through the streets of Venice by a slip of a thing with a sly grin on her face. He was curious though as to where she had brought him so reluctantly he held out his left hand to join with her right one and closed his eyes.

"It will be worth it and I will not let you trip or walk into anything. Just trust me." She walked slowly, careful to keep the same pace as Erik stepped tentatively forward. This was killing him! He really was not used to having someone else in charge, especially a female but to his credit he was actually keeping his eyes closed. Was it possible that he had now figured out the concept of surprise? That his compliance was essential to the outcome? She was tickled pink that she had managed to teach him something, give him an experience that he had been denied. Only a few more steps and she would allow him to open his eyes. She led him slowly through one of the many arches she could see down along the street, crowds flooding through each one. She was careful to choose an entrance with fewer people so they would not bump into her blind companion. And then they were through; out into a vast open space filled with the colour of Venetian society and thousands upon thousands of pigeons.

She squeezed Erik's hand and pulled him alongside her, laughter bubbling up from inside her. "Look...look and see" She tore her eyes away from the view before her to sneak a peek at her friends face as he saw St Mark's Square, the basilica, the Campanile and the pigeons with his own eyes for the first time. Oh she was getting good at this! He was awestruck. He dropped her hand, walking forward as if in a trance. She picked up her skirts and walked a little faster to catch up with him. "Well? It is everything you had dreamed?"

"More, it is beyond description. I have read about this place many times but nothing can ever prepare you for the real thing. You cannot feel the space in a book, you can only imagine. This is...this is quite beyond anything I had ever dreamt."

"I suppose most things are better first hand. Books cannot give you the sounds or the smells or as you said the space. Look at the Campanile, it almost looks like it is moving if you look at the top long enough!" Meg was feeling slightly dizzy staring at the spire at the top of the tall tower which stood at the far corner of the square opposite the entrance to the basilica.

"It is actually over three hundred feet tall and is almost one thousand years old. It is the bell tower for St Marks as you probably know but its five bells were used for more than just calling people to prayer. The largest of the bells marks the beginning and end of the work day and another chimes the hour. The third was used to call the senators to the Doges Palace and the fourth summoned the magistrates. Would you like to guess what the fifth was used for?" Erik smirked mischievously knowing Meg would never guess and relishing the opportunity to deliver a grisly story.

"Oh I do not know...perhaps when there was a new Doge or bishop? Like the white smoke in Rome." She could not think what else could have a special bell all of its own.

"No ma petite, nothing quite so innocent. The fifth bell, which incidentally was the smallest, was used to announce the execution of prisoners. It was called il Maleficio." He was in full theatrical mode now, intent of painting a gruesome picture for his new history student.

"NO! That is horrible. What does il Maleficio mean then?" Meg was enthralled, eyes wide imagining the horrible sound that would echo around the city. It even had an evil sounding name.

"It means 'the curse'. All of the bells have names but none of the rest are quite so macabre. The prisoners were hung in cages about half way up the tower's walls. If it makes you feel better there is a huge golden weather vane in the form of the archangel Gabriel at the very top." Erik craned his neck and squinted trying to focus his eyes on the sculpture wasted so high up where no one could see it. "Would you like to see them? I believe you can go up almost to the top and the view must be magnificent."

"I think not. We are not all blessed with an affinity for heights. Even the thought of it is making me feel quite ill. You should go up and see the view though. Do not miss out because of me."

"No, I will see it someday, but not today. Shall we queue for St Mark's or do you have another suggestion?" Erik had no intention of leaving Meg all by herself on the ground while he enjoyed an admittedly unparalleled view of Venice. Anything could happen to her, he must not forget she was still essentially under his protection and a young blonde woman in Italy was a rarity that would attract altogether the wrong kind of attention.

"Well we could wait for St Marks but the queue is quite long and we can come back here anytime. I did read about the island across from us, where all the artists live and work and I thought perhaps it might be interesting. We could get something to eat there if you wanted to." Meg had read all about the area called Dorsoduro in her guide book. Erik was not the only one who could read. The artisans of Venice had made the area their home, setting up their studios and shops all along the narrow canals. It fascinated her almost as much as the more famous attractions.

"As you wish; St Mark's will still be here tomorrow. Come, we can cross at Pont de l'Accademia." Meg was not the only one who knew the layout. Now that he was somewhere familiar he could picture it all in his head.

After what seemed like miles of walking, they finally reached the far side of the huge bridge that spanned the Grand Canal. Erik had taken the lead since leaving the square, some internal compass guiding him through the city of his dreams. Meg was beginning to get hungry and was longing to stop and rest although her boots were accommodating to her feet at last. She began to lag behind, feeling too warm from the exertion and heavy clothes and tired from walking. There was so much to see at every turn, brightly coloured shop fronts displaying traditional Carnevale masks of every description and beautiful glass from the island of Murano across the lagoon. They had missed Carnevale, arriving too close to Easter and they would have to wait until next year she supposed before they could take part in the most famous spectacle in the Venetian calendar. Erik would be able to legitimately accompany her to a masquerade and she wondered what he would wear. He had obviously not been invited to the ball on New Year's Eve at the Populaire but he had turned up anyway. She would never forget the lithe figure in scarlet and a skull mask that had made its way down the great staircase, cape billowing behind him and that magnificent sword at his hip. He could never be accused of not knowing how to make an entrance having ground the ball to a halt and scared the living daylights out of everyone. He had been angry that night, seeing Christine's engagement ring on full view of the world dangling from her neck. She should have worn it where it belonged, on her hand beneath her gloves. Christine had made little mistakes like that which had seemed nothing at the time but looking back she could see now that every single one was significant. She had been treading on very dangerous ground and she had not even realised. Poor Christine. She wondered how she was, if she was happy now with Raoul. She hoped so. So much had been lost that night that she hoped her friend had found with her Viscompte that which she obviously could not with Erik. Meg recalled Erik had also known how to make an exit the night of the ball, dropping through a trap door on the landing of the staircase in a puff of smoke, theatrical but effective. He would have to learn to live now without his tricks, trapdoors and smoke she thought wistfully, the sound of her name breaking through her memories.

"MEG!" Erik was stalking towards her with a murderous look in his eye and it made her shiver to see it.

"Where in the devil have you been? I turned around and you had vanished! Anything could have happened to you." He was furious with her for wandering off and making him feel fear like he never had before. Images of her being snatched by some shady character and whisking her away in a gondola with nefarious intent flashed through his mind until he realised what he had been thinking. He could have been describing himself!

"I suppose I must have fallen behind." She hung her head now in shame; sorry that she had so obviously scared him. Neither of them could afford to lose the other here until they knew their way around a little better. "I was tired and wanted to look in some of the windows. I should have asked you to stop for a while and I did not. I am sorry; I did not mean to cause you to worry." She looked up into his half covered face imploringly, feeling thoroughly chastised and repentant. She hated when he was angry with her as opposed to just irritated which was sometimes amusing. But this, this was not a nice feeling and one she did not wish to replicate.

"Come, you can lead lest you disappear on me again. There is a pasticceria up ahead you may get lost in." Erik stood back to allow his crestfallen companion to go ahead. She looked on the point of tears due in no small part to him shouting at her and also because she was tired and hungry. He followed closely behind for the few minutes it took until she came to a stop outside the little pastry shop he had smelled rather than actually seen. Pasticceria Pellizzari had a brightly coloured yellow and white striped awning and its name displayed in gold lettering on the large picture window. The smells wafting out of its door were mouth watering and Erik was surprised to see Meg still standing staring through the window taking in all the delights displayed on trays instead of inside buying half the shop.

"Meg? Are you not going in?" He was baffled at her hesitation.

"What does the sign in the window mean – in affitto?" No one puts a sign in a window unless they are either renting rooms or looking for staff. She crossed her fingers.

"It means for lease I think. I assume it refers to the house above rather than the shop. Why?"

"Oh Erik, how are you so intelligent? For lease! We need somewhere to live that is not a dreaded hotel. Think! Shall we ask inside? Then I shall buy all the pastries in the shop!" Meg did not wait for his answer but took him by the arm and pulled him behind her through the door, her mind full of the possibilities of having somewhere they could call home.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N And so little house on the prairie! Nah not quite. Erik has a ways to go with his "issues" before he gets anything close to equilibrium but he is getting there. Sorry, i'm evil. Anyway, hope you enjoy meeting their new friends...lots more of them to come. Thanks as always for the reviews...especially my Evil Twin Ace - the peaches are for you!**

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Chapter 10

The little house above the pasticceria was perfect, Meg thought. Small but perfect. They had two whole floors above the shop which was a vast improvement on their tiny quarters on the train and in the hotel. The front door to side of the shop front led up a narrow stairs to the relatively large sitting and kitchen area. This opened out at the rear through glass double doors onto a tiny balcony – just large enough for a small table and chairs – which led back down a stone staircase to the enclosed courtyard, which they shared with the Pellizzaris. The Italian family's own house backed on to the courtyard with their trade entrance at the canal along Fondementa Gherardini. The rooms above the shop had been inhabited by an elderly relative of the family until her death the previous year and fortunately much of her furniture still remained.

Upstairs Meg had a beautiful iron bed in her room and had been thrilled to find it also came with its own copper bath which had actually been plumbed to fill from a rainwater tank on the roof. Erik did not have the luxury of one of his own but of course he would not hear of her taking the room without. They could share use of it. There was a separate toilet on the same floor as the bedrooms and that completed their home.

They had met with both Signor and Signora Pellizzari the day they had spotted the advertisement in the window. Marcellino or Marcello as everyone seemed to call him was a master baker and pastry maker. He had taken over the little business from his father and had been up to his elbows in dough since he could walk. He was a large jolly sort with a beard and rather expansive waist that his apron barely accommodated. Rosa, his wife was small and capable. She had a warm smile and eyes in the back of her head especially when it came to Marcello sampling the merchandise. Meg had explained their circumstances according to the story she and Erik had fabricated in Paris but something in the look that passed between husband and wife told her that they did not entirely believe her. All the same they had agreed to lease them the rooms above welcoming them with armfuls of flowers in every room and huge baskets full of pastries, bread and fruit. Meg was beginning to think it would be detrimental to her waistline to be living above such a temptation.

The Pellizzaris had three children, two daughters and a son. The son they had seen in the shop the day they had picked up the keys. Federico was twenty four and worked for the family business making deliveries and deals in the family's gondola. He was good natured like his father and always had a ready smile for the new tenants. They had not yet met the daughters. Elena, the elder one had just turned twenty and was due to be married shortly; consequently she was always out with her beau. The youngest Pellizzari, Isabella was only six and she was in school during the day so Meg had not yet seen her. Rosa had told her that they had been all done with their family and then little Bella had come along; much to everyone's delight it appeared. The little girl was plainly keeping her parents young and was obviously doted on by her older siblings from what she had been told.

A few days had passed since they had moved in and she and Erik had fallen into a sort of routine, with her going down to collect pastries for breakfast and then going out somewhere exploring together until lunchtime. Meg had noticed Erik pulling on his cape every morning before leaving along with the associated aura of indifference that seemed to help him deal with being outside. Venice was a very busy city especially in the more touristy areas around San Marco and she had wondered how he would handle such vast numbers of people, never mind the incredibly narrow streets. He seemed a little less tense every single journey and Meg knew that when they were somewhere especially busy he would find some completely random piece of historical fact to regale her with. It was like a mental diversion for him and she found it fascinating; all the little ways he employed to adapt to his new environment. She could not imagine how strange it must be for him to suddenly be out in daylight, having lived his entire life deprived of it. She knew it was extremely unfashionable to be seen with anything other than a pale complexion but she was not of the elite and she loved nothing more than turning her face to the sun letting its warmth bathe her.

Erik still wore the binding around his face, keeping up the pretence of their circumstances. She changed it for him every day and if she did not know better she would think he actually enjoyed the few minutes she spent before breakfast tending to him. He had begun to take the wrappings off at night and then appear at first with his hand over his face and then gradually just turned slightly away from her next morning. Erik never spoke to her when she was working but once or twice she had felt his head fall back against her, his eyes closed; an involuntary movement she could understand. She supposed it was something like when her mother used to brush her hair when she was younger; she would let her mind empty and just give herself up to the sensation of the brush against her scalp and the feel of her mother's hands about her face and neck. Strange; she knew Erik was particularly sensitive about his face and to her knowledge had never let anyone near it before yet now it seemed he was becoming accustomed to her touch.

Erik could not believe how his pathetic excuse for a life was beginning to change. He had woken up this morning with the sun on his face; he refused to close the heavy wooden shutters having become addicted to the feeling. He had gone downstairs as usual to see Meg fussing around the kitchen, spooning coffee into the little pot that sat on the range for that thick brew the Italians were so fond of. He would normally walk straight to the chair by the balcony doors keeping his face turned away so she would not see the ruined side but this morning something shifted in him. He did not know why only that for the past few days he had been unconsciously letting go of a tiny part of the fear surrounding his appearance with Meg. It had started with him taking off the bindings before he went to sleep the first night they moved in removing them before he realised he would then have to face her without them next day. Before breakfast that morning he had walked in with his hand over his face and sat in the chair. Meg immediately stopped what she had been doing and proceeded to dress his face as usual. She had been doing this for days now and he had eventually dropped his hand and was turning away instead. She had acted no differently each time and it appeared to him that it really did not seem to bother her.

This morning as he spied Meg with the coffee he stopped and waited for her to turn around. Instead of turning his face away he stood and faced her; determination to conquer this phobia warring with the trepidation of what her reaction might be.

"Good Morning Erik, it is going to be a warm one I think! Did you sleep?" Meg could not believe what she was seeing and was determined not to let it show lest she scare him back into his shell. He was actually standing directly in front of her, not turned to one side, hands by his side; his handsome face gloriously naked! She could see the subtle signs that betrayed the presence of Erik's alter ego helping him stand his ground; feet planted apart in a battle stance, shoulders back, chest out. He really was quite something when he did this and she wondered if he had any idea that she could see it. It was almost like a treat to get a little bit of the Phantom with her breakfast! She was thrilled. Venice was beginning to work its magic on her friend.

She was smiling at him! A huge dazzling smile that reached her eyes and crinkled the corners; she was literally pouring sunshine in his direction. He was inclined not to believe his eyes except that it was Meg and he should have known that she would not let him down. She had asked him a question and he had completely forgotten now what it was...

"No... I mean yes...umm...Morning." He could have kicked himself. Now he was totally incapable of stringing a coherent sentence together but damn her she had addled his brain with that smile.

"You are looking particularly well this morning, if I may say so. Would you like some coffee now or if you can wait a few minutes I will go down for some croissants and then join you?" Poor Erik! He could not even speak, focusing all his energy into not bolting for the door! She was hoping he would respond in the way of most people to flattery; accept the compliment and try to do whatever it was that caused it again.

"I can wait." Congratulations, you managed a whole three words without tripping. He was going to have to get a grip on things; the wordsmith inside him was having a fit.

She had said he looked well? He never looked well. It was not something he could ever even aspire to look. How did one look well with only half a face? Meg baffled him and he had almost given up trying to figure her out. She did not act the way he expected her to and she certainly never said what he predicted she might. Was everyone like her and had Christine been the exception? Experience was inclining him to think otherwise.

She had disappeared now, down the back steps to sneak into Marcello in the kitchens downstairs. It really was a glorious day, warm for late March he supposed, not that he had been outside in any season in broad daylight for longer than he could remember. But it was definitely warmer than yesterday and the little balcony would be flooded in light all morning and well into the afternoon. Perhaps he would take out his violin and play her here later, just inside the doors. So far he had only tuned his precious violin, something holding him back from taking the bow in his hand. He did not want to tarnish his beautiful new city with sad or angry music; there had been enough of that in Paris. He supposed he was holding back until he could release whatever was inside him gently, without hurting her. He would never take his anger out on her, the organ would have been able to take it but _she_ could not. He would have to think of something hopeful to play.

Meg skipped down the last step and swung in through the open door at the back of the pasticceria just in time to wave back to Federico who was on his way out with a huge stack of delight filled trays. He gave her a beaming smile and a cheeky wink before disappearing through the trade entrance at the far side of the courtyard. "Buongiorno Marcello...your son seems in wonderful form today!" Meg dropped her basket on the bench beside where the older man was folding pieces of sweet dough into intricate little shapes.

"Ah this is because he has just seen a beautiful girl. He was out very early this morning and brought you back a little something from the markets," Marcello waggled his eyebrows at her and pointed to a small brown paper sack behind him on a shelf. She went to take it down and peered inside to see half a dozen peaches, all creamy pink and fat with ripeness. Her mouth was watering as their syrupy smell wafted up her nose. How sweet of him!

"Ooh I adore peaches! Please tell him thank you." Meg could not wait to sink her teeth into one and maybe Erik liked them too.

"I think he would prefer if you told him...he brought them especially for the bella signorina. We were all warned not to eat them!" Marcello winked suggestively, placing two handfuls of pastries into her basket. She could just see Rosa leaning back from the counter in the front smiling pointedly at the bag in her hand, nodding enthusiastically. Meg waved good morning and blushed to her roots. Really he was a nice boy and she did not mind one bit getting fresh peaches for breakfast but she suspected her landlords knew something she did not.

Erik was lurking in the doorway off the balcony when she came up the steps with a dour look on his face. He was doing that thing he did with his shoulders again making her feel claustrophobic while still outside. What was wrong with him? She looked him straight in the eye from her lower position on the steps trying to find some inner, more assertive Meg that could match him. She tried to stand up straight and put her shoulders back but with a basket over one arm and a sack of peaches in the other she was failing miserably. Oh for goodness sake! She threw her eyes up and marched up the final three steps, ignoring the hair standing on the back of her neck as she slid past him into the kitchen to drop her basket on the worktop. What had gotten into him this morning? Maddening creature! And she had been delighting in this apparition earlier? He was a complete contradiction today and Meg could feel the beginnings of a headache just trying to anticipate his humour. Well she would not rise to it. If he wanted to play silly games with her head this morning he was wasting his time because she refused to allow it. Pouring coffee from the pot on the stove and taking a sharp knife she walked straight passed him to sit at the small table out on the balcony and took a peach from the bag.

"Where did you get those?" Erik had seen the young virile Italian waving at Meg as he left and he had actually turned and waved up at him too, giving him a big cheery smile. Just as well he had been standing with his right side facing into the kitchen. He had also partially heard the exchange with Marcello. He could hear her breathing through both bedroom walls while she slept so eavesdropping on what was happening below him was almost laughable in the lack of effort it took. Federico had brought her something, he had heard that much. He had also deduced that it had been Meg that had put the big insolent grin on the Italian's face. Not that it was of any consequence. Why should he not smile at Meg? The young boy was friendly and easy with his smiles to anyone who encountered him.

"Peaches. Federico brought them from the market this morning," she responded casually, slicing into the velvety skin of the one in her hand with glee and then feeling slightly remorseful handed one half to him in a truce. Except that he did not move. Erik stayed there hovering by the door alternately staring at the peach and then at the ground. What is it you exasperating man? Oh damn and blast! She had completely forgotten his bandages. Of course he would not come outside. After all his efforts this morning and now she had gone and undone it all by being an insensitive ninny. She winced at her oversight and the pain she knew she must have caused him. She stood up, her head heavy with shame and made her way back inside to get fresh bandages from her bag. Erik was still rooted to the same spot when she returned. Oh Meg, what have you done? She walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, "Sit."

Erik did as he was bid, careful not make eye contact as he turned. He could not bear to look at her like this; he was pitiful, not even able to do something simple like sit in the sun with her and share her breakfast. Meg was as she always was; quiet, gentle and neat. She never changed the way she did this for him, always careful around his eye and mindful of the dark wig he wore underneath. He tried to relax and enjoy the small moments of peace this always gave him, closing his eyes and knowing in his heart he did not deserve any of it.

Meg stared at the back of his head, biting her lip against the tears that were threatening to fall at any moment. She could not believe she had forgotten this. It was so important, vital. It should be second nature to her now but Erik had thrown her this morning with his revelation before breakfast and then her mind got distracted with his stubborn theatrics on the balcony. She _must _not forget why she was here. Erik would never be able to cope if she made mistakes like this. Goodness knows when he would be able to stand in front of her again like he had this morning. He was so fragile really despite appearances and his constant effort to appear otherwise and she had probably done irreparable damage by her thoughtlessness. Stupid, stupid girl! Finishing at the base of his skull she tucked her finger underneath at the nape of his neck to push the pin through and felt him flinch. Oh God, she did not stick the pin in him?

"I am so sorry, did I hurt you?" Was there no _end_ to her ineptitude?

"No, it was... it just...umm...tickled." Not this again. He really had to sort out his inability to construct complete sentences. He was acting like a blessed female with a fit of the vapours. He had felt that right at the base of his spine, whatever she had just done and it had actually tingled but he was damned if he would admit that to her.

"Oh...sorry, I always hated being tickled; it feels creepy. There you are finished." She placed both hands on his solid shoulders as she always did and gave them a squeeze...well as much as she could with her tiny hands.

"And Erik, I am really sorry I forgot about your bandages, it completely slipped my mind. It will not happen again, I promise." Please do not let him get worse because of my total and utter incompetence.

"It is alright Meg, please just go and enjoy your breakfast. I will come out in a moment." When he had a chance to process what she just said. She had forgotten...it had _completely_ slipped her mind! Did she have any idea what she had just said? Or what it meant. She had forgotten about his face, did not remember she needed to cover it because it had slipped her mind! Would Christine have _ever_ forgotten his face; ever learned to live with it? Or would it have always been something she would have pretended very hard to ignore? He hated that he knew the answers. He hated that he had become so completely obsessed by one who he thought could deliver him from his prison, from his loneliness. She was everything, his every waking thought and the purpose behind everything he had done. Yet when it came time for her to decide she chose another. She chose the light. She chose to betray him, hurt him and deny him. He had not felt like that since he was a child, being kicked like a dog for not performing. It made him sick to the pit of his stomach how someone he had given everything to could throw it all back in his face, could not see, could not feel, and was blind to him. He thought she had heard the melody, understood his words, felt his music wrap around her like he had intended but it was a mirage, no more real than the Opera Ghost. She took all he taught her and used it to trap him; the poisonous viper that had crushed his stupid wasted heart. He would never be so careless again.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N For those of you gagging for this since I posted ch 10...I hope I have done this justice. I had intended a little more at the end of this but it ended where it needed to and the rest will follow in ch 12. Enjoy folks! Thanks again for the amazing reviews which continue to inspire me expecially when I hit a Tuesday wall.**

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Chapter 11

It was the strangest letter she had ever sat down to write for the simple fact she could not remember _ever_ writing to her mother. They had quite simply never been apart for it to become necessary. Meg had never been anywhere away from the Populaire, her mother being her only living relative so there was really nowhere for her to go to. In the off season when all of the other performers had a few weeks reprieve, she and her mother had stayed behind because as the ballet mistress she still had a dormitory full of charges with nowhere to go either. She was their keeper until adulthood, many of them orphans. Consequently her mother had never in her memory had a holiday or spent a day away from the opera house. Perhaps she could come and visit someday?

_Chere Maman_

_I am so sorry I have not written sooner but so much has been happening here. Let me say first (as I know you will be beside yourself with worry) that I am fine, more than fine as is your old friend "Eleanore". After two entire days on a train (and let me tell you that I am not eager to repeat that experience) we finally reached our destination. You will never guess Maman...Venice! I know that you will appreciate how it is the perfect place for her to be. She has been at times both a handful and a delight, alternately frustrating and surprising me. She is very hard work but like all challenges it has its rewards. We have found somewhere to live, just above a lovely little pastry shop (you know my penchant for all things sweet and sticky!) and the family that runs it have become our landlords and hopefully, friends. _

_Marcello and his lovely wife Rosa have three children; two girls Elena who is a few years older than me and getting married soon and Isabella who is six. We have not met either yet but if they are anything like their brother in character they will be delightful. The son, Federico is twenty four and works for the family business – he even has a gondola! Yesterday he brought me fresh peaches from the early market and Maman, you have never tasted anything like them; pure sunshine! I think perhaps his mama would quite like for me to like him if you get my meaning but I am sure it is nothing but Federico being his usual friendly self._

_Eleanore is coping well I think with being out and about once more, although still apprehensive in crowds. She still wears her veil everywhere but if you can believe it (which I know you will not) as recently as yesterday has begun to leave her head uncovered around me at least until after breakfast. It was a very big step for her to take considering what happened to her – she uses that veil like armour. But what a joy to be able to see someone's face when they speak to you! She has been revelling in all things Venetian (as you can imagine!) and we have been out sightseeing a few times already. I did not realise just how knowledgeable she is about art and architecture and I learn a little more every day. I, in turn teach her a little about life and not getting one's own way all the time! Whether your old friend will ever fully recover from her malaise is uncertain but so far I believe I am helping. She has suffered such a terrible trauma to say nothing of the life she has led that I cannot even imagine how difficult it is for her to readjust to living again. At this point I think you could say we have become friends although I still find moments where I could quite happily smother her for being her impossible self._

_Please write me back and tell me all about how things are back in Paris. Have they started renovations yet? Oh and how is dear Christine? The poor thing must be quite overcome what with everything that has happened, although I dare say the prospect of her upcoming nuptials should serve to distract her admirably and her Viscomte will look after her as on one else can. She will think I have abandoned her no doubt but I am sure you will explain that your friend had a more pressing need of me. If you see her please hug her for me and let her know I think of her often. _

_I must finish now but I promise to write again soon as it is never dull in Venice so I shall have lots of adventures to impart! Pray that Eleanore behaves and that I remain your sane (and sure to be sainted!) daughter..._

_Votre fille aimante,_

_Meg_

Just as Meg was waiting for the ink to dry in her bedroom, Erik was lifting his one _true_ love out of her case just inside the balcony doors. This was long overdue and his hands shook with nerves at the thought of giving her a voice once more. This would be her first time to sing in Venice and he was conscious of making it a memory worth keeping. Mozart would suffice; some of the child prodigy's earliest sonatas would help his fingers loosen and being like scales to him would require no effort at all. He could just enjoy her, the feel of her weight resting on his shoulder, tucked snugly under his chin and cradled gently in the heel of his left hand. Taking a deep breath and lifting the bow gracefully in his right hand he began to conjure the old magic she always made with him, eyes falling closed as he let his soul open to her. His heart thumped a furious beat in his chest, the ecstasy she brought him taking over his senses and bringing him such sublime relief that he could not believe he had held out for so long. His finger memory, a little rusty at first, came surging back with each phrase until he had completely lost himself in her world once more, oblivious to all but the mistress in his arms. `

Oh the bliss of feeling almost whole again...and in such a place as this! With each sonata, every note the sceptre in his heart which had curiously lost its sharp stinging point over the past weeks, liquefied and flowed like a river through his fingertips and out into the air, dissipating like mist in the warm light. Slowly and steadily it flowed until Erik could feel his heartbeat return to a steady soothing rhythm. It was almost pleasurable; unhurried like a gradual bloodletting as opposed to the violent lancing he would have experienced on the organ. This was...better, more humane to all concerned.

"S...Signore Erik? Signorina Meg? Hello?..."

A small hesitant voice pulled Erik out of his all encompassing trance and he immediately stopped playing. There stood, out on the second to last step, a little olive skinned child with the hugest chocolate eyes he had ever seen. He panicked, thinking a million things all at once...where is Meg? Are my bandages still in place? Did she hear me? Have I frightened her?

He laid the violin back in its case and stood to approach the door, realisation dawning at the last moment as to her identity. " Buongiorno...Signorina Isabella?"

The little chocolate-eyed girl stuck her plump hand straight out for him to take and introduced herself just as an adult would. "Bella if you please. Isabella is too big for me and I am only six. Are you Signore Erik?" She was a little hesitant with her words he noticed, staring at her sandal clad feet, still having not moved from her position just short of the balcony. He bent down and held his hand out to her completely swallowing her tiny fingers in his. Goodness, she was like a little doll, so tiny and perfect but breathing and speaking. He noticed her twisting her right foot in anticipation of an invitation he supposed and watched as her head gradually rose to look up at him. Oh please no. Not a little child! She should _never_ have to see this. Erik felt sick to his stomach and closed his eyes to the horror her face was sure to hold even thought he knew she would only see bandages. He felt her move towards him, hand still buried in his.

Slowly he nodded at her, "Yes, I am and I am pleased to meet you...Bella." She may never be pleased to meet anyone ever again thanks to him.

"I heard you playing when I was in the kitchen with Papa...he loved it! Can I see it? Your violin? I have never seen one up close before." The little doll could speak alright. She had not stopped for a single breath and Erik's head was spinning from all her questions. His violin? She wanted to see her.

"Alright but you must be very gentle...she is precious to me." He led her by the hand across the balcony and in through the doors to where the violin lay in its case, hoping she could somehow understand what he had said. He picked it up with his left hand, his right still firmly in Bella's grip (although how could that be if hers was inside his?) and motioned for her to sit down on the chair.

"I promise I will be careful...I had a kitten once and she was so tiny and Mama said I had to be really gentle with her because she was so small and could get hurt if I was not." Bella gazed up at the tall, dark haired man before her who had such big warm hands. Something was bothering her but it could wait until she had seen the violin.

Goodness, slow down! She had no problem constructing sentences and she was only six. Perhaps he should take lessons from her. He could not believe what he was about to do but swallowed the fear and tried to trust the innocence of the little creature before him. He laid his beloved violin gently in her lap keeping hold of the neck lest she slip. "Oooh is it a her? It must be because she's so pretty. I like the swirls on the fat bit and she has a neck like a swan. You must be really good and studied really hard because Papa said you were magnifico and he almost never says that." My, she was an intelligent little thing. He had always thought his precious looked a little like a swan too; he the ugly duckling.

"I practise all the time and you are right...she is a "her" and yes she does indeed look like a swan. The swirls are called f-holes because they are shaped like an _f_ and they allow the sound to come out. This is the scroll which is like the head and eyes of the swan." Erik pointed out the different parts to her noticing that she missed nothing, soaked up and processed every little bit of information her gave her.

"You are lucky Signore...Mama sent me to lessons for the piano but my legs are not long enough and my hands are too small to play anything nice because they won't reach." She looked down again at the violin, her thick glossy lashes almost reaching her cheekbones. Her little soft mouth was turned down in a sulky pout, the look of one unhappy with her lot. It was endearing, Erik thought, the image of her huffing because she was not yet big enough for a piano.

"I can understand your frustration however it will not always be so. You will grow and someday your feet will touch the pedals and your fingers will be able to span many keys. You will be able to play anything and that is a wonderful thing to look forward to." He took the violin and placed it back in her case, Bella finally letting her fingers slip from his. Her next question almost delivered him from consciousness.

"What happened your head? Did you fall and hurt yourself? I fell over last week and banged my knee but Mama kissed it better and now it's alright again. There was lot of blood. Did your Mama not kiss it better for you?"

Meg had been sealing the envelope destined for her mother when she heard the music float up the staircase and under her door. Erik was playing! At _last_. Something had been holding him back all this time and she had only ever heard him tuning the beautiful instrument. This would be such a balm to his soul, something akin to her dancing and he needed it. Quietly and gently she tiptoed out of her room and down the stairs, sitting a few steps from the bottom so that she could indulge in whatever he played. She almost felt like she was intruding but she could not see him...he deserved _some_ privacy for this. She had expected to hear anger and hate but she recognised instead sadness, pain and finally a little hope. She knew the pieces...some of Mozart's earliest sonatas; ones he had written before he was yet ten years old – how appropriate! It was not in the notes that she heard but in the way that Erik had played them. Oh he was wonderful! So unbelievably talented that it sounded to Meg like that violin was designed purely to translate for him. She felt every word. She knew he was purging his soul, cleansing his heart. And then abruptly it stopped.

Creeping down the last few steps to see what had interrupted him, she stole a quick glance around the wall to see what could only be the Pellizzari's youngest standing expectantly on the stone steps outside. Isabella! Oh she was darling! Poor Erik, he would never have had dealings with little people with inquisitive minds. Should she go and rescue him or let him test his wings? She should really help him but something stopped her. It was maybe good for him to do this without her so she would just sit back and observe and try to keep a straight face. She had never seen a look of such _utter _confusion on his face and she thought she had seen all of them! Watching from her spot behind the wall she saw him take the little girl by the hand and lead her inside. He was actually letting her hold his violin. Oh my goodness! How _did_ she get him to do that? He was explaining about its different parts and the thought struck her how wonderfully patient and kind he was being with her, yet not speaking to her like a normal adult would a child. He was speaking to her as he would another adult and little Isabella was lapping it up. He would be a very good teacher...in fact he already was if she considered her friend and the voice that had been like a rusty hinge before Erik had gotten his hands on it. Then she heard the words that she had secretly feared from the second she had seen Isabella outside the door. "What happened your head?" Oh no! Poor Erik would never been able to handle this...and from a child of all people. It would kill him. She would _have_ to help him now. Before she had a chance, she heard him speak.

How do I do this? How do I say it without hurting the little thing? Erik could not fathom how he would answer her innocent questions without terrifying her completely so he just tried to be honest with her and pray that somehow she would accept it and leave.

"No, I did not fall over and no one had to kiss it better. Bella, it is a little different to your knee. I was _born_ with a sort of bump. The bandage covers it because it looks a little strange." Please let this be enough for her.

"I know just what you mean! I have a mark over my eyebrow – see!" Bella pulled back her fringe and pointed to a tiny birthmark that was no more than a blush the size of Erik's thumbprint. "It's only small but when I started school some of the other girls were mean to me. Mama told me not to listen to them because they were just jealous."

Erik was intrigued by her little story, momentarily distracted from the cause of it. "Why were they jealous?"

"Because silly...that was where the angels kissed me goodbye before I was born! They did not want me to leave but I had to because Mama was waiting for me. None of the other girls had a mark like mine. They were _so_ jealous when I told them and they never made fun of me again. Mama was right. She's _always_ right." Bella delivered her story with the most innocent and heartbreakingly earnest look on her face that Erik almost cried. What a wonderful Mama she had to take that pain away from her before it had a chance to hurt her. He did not even want to think about the woman who had given him life and then taken it away again.

"Maybe that's what happened to you? Maybe the angels liked you _so_ much, even more than they liked me that they just held on _so_ tight that they gave you a bump! Mine is only tiny but they must have _really_ not wanted you to go." Bella was clapping her tiny pudgy hands together with glee as the thought of how lucky her new important friend was to have impressed the angels so much.

Erik had no words...even if there were he could not speak for the lump he was trying in vain to swallow. He was powerless to stop the tears that fell freely, cascading down his right cheek onto his silk vest. She was the angel. A little ray of goodness that had wormed her way up the steps and into his hand. What she had said was beautiful, impossible but beautiful. How simple things are to her? Why could not everyone be like her...and Meg? His little doll, seeing his tears stood up on her chair so she was almost level with him and wrapped her two short arms around his shoulders as far as they would go. "Don't be sad, they really liked you!" She planted a noisy kiss on his bandage covered left cheek and climbed down off her chair. "I have to go now because Papa said I was not to bother you for more than two minutes and it's been much longer than that. Can I come and see her again? Maybe I can meet Signorina Meg next time?" She pointed to the violin as she wandered across to the door.

From somewhere Erik found a voice, perhaps not quite his but a voice all the same. "Yes, of course you can; Signorina Meg will be delighted to meet you next time." He gave his best effort of a smile to the little girl in an attempt to match the beam she was throwing him over her shoulder as she danced out the doors. "Ciao Signore...remember my Mama is _always_ right!" With that she disappeared, skipping down the steps and calling to Marcello for something to eat because she was _starving_.

Before he had a chance to process what had just happened a series of unmistakable footsteps came to a halt behind him. He felt a warm hand at his shoulder. She had been there all along; he had heard her come ever so quietly down the stairs as he was playing, not so lost in his music that he missed her movements as she tried to stay silent. "Why did you not come and say hello? She wanted to meet you."

"Ah...something told me she had all the company she needed. I think you have just made a friend for life. She is enamoured with your violin...you were very good with her." Meg was not sure how much she should admit to hearing; she did not want to embarrass him and she knew he had been completely thrown by the little girl's explanation of his face. It had made her weep for her friend that he had heard those words and from a child no less! They had such a knack of getting right to the heart of things...everything was easy. There were no preconceived notions, just a simple story and acceptance.

"It is alright Meg, I know you were there all along. You may be light on your feet but you are not wearing your dancing shoes now and as you know I have ears."

"Well then...I happen to agree with her little story...genius I thought! I have a letter to Maman that needs to be posted; I have left it far longer than I should have. She will be beside herself worrying about us. Shall we go out; maybe the queue in the square may be a little shorter and we can finally see St Mark's?" She watched him turn to her, his cheek still moist from the tears he had shed. He put a hand over hers on his shoulder and squeezed; a silent acknowledgement for her presence.

"I was listening to you earlier; you play beautifully." Meg stood back, letting her hand fall as she allowed him to pull his coat on.

Erik flexed his fingers at the end of his coat sleeves. They felt lighter now that he had played something. In fact, his entire being felt a little less burdened now that he had released some of the poison inside him, not to mention his little visit from Bella. That child was a gift. She had completely turned him inside out with her theories and it was without exception the most surprising thing anyone had ever said to him. As for Meg...she liked hearing him play?

"You sound surprised ma petite." He began to fix his cape, swishing it over his shoulders with a flourish and immediately feeling its comforting weight upon his straightening shoulders. Composing his features and flexing his fingers yet again, he turned to face her piercing her with the look that he knew unnerved her to the core. He would not have her think he was a _complete_ mess.

"No. I would not have expected anything less from you Erik." And there he is! She could almost set her watch by him. I know what you are doing my friend but I shall allow it because you need it ...just this once.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Well here it is guys...took an age to break into and had intended for a bit more action...Erik had other ideas. It's all gone a bit angsty here but come on, he needs to work out a LOT of issues. Enjoy!**

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Behind the mask of our everyday persona lies our true face, the one we had before we were born. Unweathered by time and beauty is this face behind the face. The soul, covered over by layers of hardened emotion and rigid mental structure, finally crystallizes into the human mask we all wear so proudly. The light that radiates from a newborn's tiny face is slowly stolen away by the thief of time, leaving behind a sculpted visage on which is etched all that we have thought and felt throughout our life. Focusing on the mask's gaze, we are reminded of the timeless challenge that confronts our modern lives... to rediscover the essence of our existence, to see our original face in the shimmering mirror of the soul, to walk in beauty and light, and to truly live. - AZ GALLERY

Chapter 12

The main post office in Venice was up near the Ponte Rialto which meant a very long walk. Meg was almost glad of it if it allowed Erik the time to work out the confusion she knew was in his head. It must have been strange for him encountering little Bella and then hearing what she had to say about his face. He probably had never encountered children before but she could plainly see that he was good with her; in fact the two seemed to be equally fascinated with each other. What a way children had of looking at the world! Would he now begin see himself as something other than the monster _he_ believed he was? Would he ever see what she was beginning to; the real man, the human being underneath? He had intrigued her all her life, catching glimpses of the edge of his cape or a flash of his mask in the darkness above and revelling in his antics until recently. She knew her mother knew who he was but something always stopped her questioning her about him. If she had needed to know, if she was meant to be afraid her mother would have told her, warned her. But she never did and he had never given her cause to fear him.

Almost two weeks had passed since she had found him curled in a ball sobbing his heart out for her friend. He had loved Christine, or at least thought he did which she supposed amounted to the same thing where his pain was concerned. She would be lying to herself if she did not admit to being afraid that night, afraid _for_ him, for what would happen to him if someone else found him. She knew her friend was safe but the man she had left behind was not. Where she had found the courage to stand up to him, to help him she did not know as she had always done what was expected and stayed in the background before? Something hurting in him had begged her to care, to see beyond what others had and she was in no hurry now to go back to the girl she had been. What he had done had appeared to have been motivated by love so she knew he was not truly evil and while it was badly bruised his heart was still in there. Did he realise just how far he had come? In the short time they had been together she had earned enough of his trust to allow him to show her his face, all of it. He had been outside several times, in crowds of people and had begun to play music again. If she told him two weeks ago he would have accomplished all this she doubted he would have believed her. Being here in his city of dreams was working, making him feel more at ease, allowing him to heal. She had made the decision to bring him to Venice so she supposed she had a hand in his improvement and perhaps she herself was making a difference.

Erik abhorred crowds. It was mid afternoon and it seemed everyone wanted to be outside walking the streets. His practiced air of indifference shielded him like a suit of armour from the stares he was continually conscious of and prevented the feeling overwhelming him. In his opera house it had served to aid the aura of power and fear he needed to project, keeping him apart. Now it was helping him participate in real life, just like everyone else. He had been alone before when that image he created was his only defence but now he had someone who walked beside him, someone who had defied convention and stood up to the only family they had for him, befriended him; someone on his side. Meg was a woman apart and he was only beginning to realise how. Obviously she had courage or she would not have stayed but she was also determined. She refused to think of failure or defeat and would not be beaten at anything if she put her mind to it. She had bested him and that was a first. No one had _ever_ told him what to do or how to do it except for Meg. She only got away with it because he realised she was almost always right and invariably it was in his interest to comply. Why had she done it, taken up his cause? It was not pity he saw in her face whenever she looked at him but something else. It had started with compassion, something he had not seen since her mother had liberated him from the gypsies but now there was more than that in her eyes. She seemed to be willing him on, encouraging him quietly and softly to come out of all the dark places he had been hiding. He knew it was working.

Because of her he had found it in him to let her see his whole face not just the one he presented to the world. His face reflected who he really was he supposed and while the good side was carefully put together, immaculate; the ruined side showed the chaos, the madness, the weakness. He had not realised until now by showing her his face he was effectively granting her permission to see it all, see inside him. He had not even given that to the one he professed to love. Something had stopped him with Christine and he knew now what it was. He did not trust her; she had never earned it. Her curiosity had led her to take without asking; she would not wait, could not be told. He should have remembered that before he walked straight into her web of deceit for her to do it once more. He should have but he did not, blinded as he had been by an obsession to possess the voice he had moulded and driven by the need to have her for himself alone. He had been so desperate for someone, _anyone_ to reach out to him and know he was there, that he existed that he had missed any warnings his brain might have sent to tread carefully. Christine was the cross he had almost perished on and her disregarded friend was picking up the pieces, something he suspected she had done before.

"Ciao Bella Signorina" Erik was instantly on alert for the familiar cry whenever he went anywhere with Meg. Her blonde hair and fair skin seemed to attract the Italian male populous like bees to a honey pot. A gondola was pulling up alongside them as they walked side by side on the wider canal bank pavement.

"Signorina Meg! Ciao bella!"

Erik recognised the happy-go-lucky visage of his landlord's son and ground his teeth in unexpected irritation. He should be relieved it was only Federico and not some greasy young letch desperate to get their paws on his young companion but it was the "ciao _bella_" that did it. He knew it was a compliment but it was reducing her to the lowest form of life by referring to her as all the other young pups did every woman they saw and he felt the muscles in his forearms tense from the resultant flexing of his fingers.

"Federico, it _is_ you!" Meg waved enthusiastically, a delighted smile lighting up her face and bringing a flush of colour to her cheeks. Erik thought he felt one of his molars crack at the sight of her blush. Breathe you fool! She is only talking to him. He watched the younger man gaze up into her pretty face adoringly and observed as she appeared to play along with it.

"We are off to the Ponte Rialto, are you finished for the day?" Meg knew he kept odd hours, getting the majority of the family business done before most of Venice woke.

"Si, I have to collect Elena, she is at the dress makers I think. She is having Mama's wedding dress altered to fit her and I promised to fetch her when she was finished. It is in the same direction; I will take you as far as the Rialto if you like?" Federico looked like his life depended on Meg's answer.

Erik was about to decline when Meg began to climb aboard, her hand outstretched to take the one offered by the Italian. He followed reluctantly, accepting Meg's hand when she offered it. As they moved away from the quayside it struck him that he had never actually sat in a gondola before. He had never been the passenger in his own one so was now faced with a completely different perspective. He sat next to Meg, squashed up against her on the makeshift seat; this boat being designed for cargo rather than people. She however craned behind her to chat with their gondolier who stood at the rear. He was assaulted by a feeling of powerlessness, of no longer being the alpha male and he did not like it one bit. He was seated and could not remember the last time he had not towered over everyone he encountered. Erik was used to being the one in control, the one who people listened to, paid attention to and obeyed and he was currently being thoroughly ignored. Meg was thanking Federico for those confounded juicy peaches. They _were_ wonderful but he wished they had not been so significantly given; it would cause a multitude of problems he did not have the mental capacity to deal with. The last thing he needed was someone developing an unhealthy interest in Meg while she was under his protection. He was practically her guardian and Antoinette would kill him.

At some point Erik tried to just savour the unique view of Venice this was giving him, enjoying the splendour of the Palazzo Ducale and San Marco from the Grand Canal. It was choppy out in the wider canal and Meg had unconsciously thrown her left hand back onto his right thigh to steady herself and had yet to remove it, still engrossed in conversation over her right shoulder. He swallowed the uncomfortable and unbidden sensations racing around the pit of his stomach and beyond. Perhaps he was just feeling the effects of motion sickness; his lake beneath the Populaire had been smooth as glass. They were about half way to the Rialto now and he could see they were turning to the left, bringing them into a smaller side canal with no waves. He could only assume this was where they would collect Elena.

"And what time is this, eh? I told you three not half past!" A breathy voice rang out from the quayside, echoing up and down all the buildings in their vicinity. She was bending over to pick up her bags when Erik first heard her and only really saw her properly when she came to step into the boat. His face fell and his heart stopped. Automatically his hand went to the one of Meg's on his thigh grasping it to get her attention.

Meg felt Erik's hand on hers at about the same time she noticed the reason for it. Elena was stepping into the boat and settling herself in the seat opposite them. She smiled brightly at both her and Erik but glared over their heads to her tardy brother.

"You must be Signore Erik and Signorina Meg? I am the only one you have not met! Elena." She beamed across at Meg envying her golden hair and paler complexion. She nodded at Erik taking in the measure of the man who had impressed her little sister so much.

The young Italian woman had glossy dark brown hair, almost black but poker straight and had it tied back into a knot at her nape. Her eyes were the same as her sister and brother, dark chocolate, a full mouth the colour of a deep blush and most astonishingly of all - she bore an unsettling resemblance to her best friend! The only real difference Meg could see was her skin which was of course tanned, her eyes which did not carry the same air of naïveté and fear that her friend's had and her hair was straight. Otherwise she could have passed for her twin. Judging by the vicelike grip on the fingers of her left hand, it had not gone unnoticed by Erik . Was he to endure torture at _every_ turn! She tried to pull her hand free lest either of the Pellizzaris should notice the irregular contact between her and her supposed employer although she wished with all her heart she could have held on.

Of all the people in the world she had to resemble...Erik felt the blood drain clean away from his face and brain; a wave of nausea crashing over him. He felt Meg tugging at her hand and he released it chancing a glance at her to see if she had seen too or if he was just hallucinating. No, the look of concern in her eyes was all the affirmation he needed; he was sitting opposite a Mediterranean version of Christine Daae. It hurt to look so he found the fabric of his cape around his knees fascinating. He recalled that her eyes had been very different. Although similar in shape they held the look of a happy, fulfilled young woman with no fears or worries in her life. Her voice was different too, it was deeper and she spoke with the confidence that all Italians seemed to have from birth. Christine had had none of this. Had _he_ put the fear in her eyes? He had thought _that_ fear would turn to love but instead had turned to pity and hatred, the former being something he would not wish from anyone. He did not want pity, did not want to be made feel as if he was pitiful even if he believed it but was made far worse when that belief was reinforced by someone he had cared about. Hatred he could deal with, it was a clear, clean cut emotion which stung but ultimately one he could identify with. Pity crushed the soul and had ultimately extinguished the tenderness he had felt for the young singer.

Meg was overcome with the overwhelming need to get him out of this situation but they were stuck on a boat in the middle of the Grand Canal, having come out again to rejoin the main waterway, and had a way to go before they could disembark. She could feel the warm body beside her tensing to the point of snapping and hoped their neighbours did not notice anything untoward about his behaviour. Perhaps they would just put it down to standoffishness for he _was_ that at the best of times. Her need to protect her friend from further distress was thwarted by the logistics of the situation so he would just have to deal with it until they reached their destination. Meg thought he could do with being left to himself for the time being so she concentrated on distracting the new arrival from Erik's melancholy.

"Your mother tells us you are to be married soon! How wonderful; you must be so excited." Meg knew that no sane woman could resist regaling all the little details of her upcoming wedding.

"Yes, it is set for the fourth of June, the first Sunday. I would have preferred a little sooner as the wait is _killing_ me but no one marries during May as it is given over to worship of the Virgin. My fiancé Vittorio says I should use the time to enjoy being a single girl as he intends to lock me indoors keeping house for the next twenty years!"

Meg noticed how Elena's whole face lit up when she spoke of her plans and especially when she mentioned her intended. How wonderful it must feel to have such an event to look forward to and then a lifetime spent with the one you loved above all others? It was not a concept she had experience of, her mother having been widowed when Meg was only a baby and her friends parents had both died when she too was only a child. She could not recall anyone she knew that was living the dream that Elena wove except perhaps for her parents Marcello and Rosa. They quite obviously adored each other and their children, sharing a bond strong enough to allow them to work side by side each day without killing each other although she was sure they argued like anyone else would. But she suspected the making up more than compensated! Christine would have that now she supposed although tainted by the experience with the Opera Ghost. What _had_ Erik been thinking anyway? Could he not _see_ she was promised to Raoul? Was he so blinded by his own madness that he had completely missed the fact she was in love with the Viscomte or did he just not care? How _could_ he have been happy forcing the hand of someone who loved someone else or had he believed he had enough for both of them? It was heartbreaking really; a great love story gone badly wrong. For herself she could not bear the thought of someone being with her whose heart she knew lay elsewhere; she would rather be alone than suffer that her whole life. He was positively masochistic in the ways he had found to torture himself, unintentional though they may have been.

"How perfect, a June bride just as it should be! Your brother told us you were having your Mama's dress altered for you; it must be an honour to wear her gown." Meg thought it a beautiful idea and wondered what her own mother had worn. She had never seen it and Maman had never spoken of it so she supposed it was not a custom she would ever participate in, which was of course assuming that some sainted creature would actually notice her long enough to want to put up with her!

"Yes, it is a tradition in my family and I shall hand it down to my daughter should I have one. Bella will have her own as it is for the eldest to pass down and as I am the first Pellizzari girl for a very long time – my father comes from a long line of boys – it is rapidly turning into the event of the year as far as my family are concerned. Of course we Italians will use any excuse for a party but a wedding is a very big event. There will be a huge feast after the ceremony and dancing till dawn! Everyone will don their masks – again it is Venetian tradition at any feast to allow people to enjoy themselves to the full without inhibition. Of course everyone knows who everyone is but just dressing up allows you to let go a little more than you would normally! You should both come...oh please, I would be honoured if you would and I know Mama and Papa will insist!"

Erik did not miss the invitation the young girl had issued despite being completely taken up with the weave in his woollen cape. He had been half listening to her excitedly describe her upcoming marriage and had been trying to ignore the persistent visions of Christine in a wedding dress that assaulted his mind. Christine would still have her day, he would not. How had he ever thought she would choose him? What did he have to offer anyone but the reality of his face, a past full of pain and a future filled with self loathing. What if _she_ had wanted children, daughters to pass her dress to? That was something he had not thought of and now that he did he realised it could never have been. The thought of passing his horrific deformity to an innocent filled him with a terror that far surpassed the desolation he also felt at never holding his own flesh and blood in his arms.

"Of course we will come, we would love to... assuming my employer is well enough. We have not seen that side of life here yet and as we missed Carnivale it will be a treat to attend a Mask and your wedding of course! Thank you Elena." Erik would be 'well enough' if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. She would not miss this for the world and he should be glad of the fact he could finally do something which gave him a legitimate excuse to cover his face.

Federico had pulled the gondola alongside the quayside and Meg could see they were just short of the Rialto Bridge. Finally she could separate Erik from his current instrument of torture. He stepped up onto the stone dock holding his hand out to pull Meg up beside him and threw a backward glance at the girl who had reminded him of how much he had lost. She winced at his expression of utter despondency which had intensified somewhat after Elena had issued her wedding invitation, whatever was going through his head. Federico pushed away from the wall as she waved them off, a sparkle in the eye he winked at her with.

"Until next time bella Signorina, Signore." He flashed a brilliant smile at Meg, nodding respectfully in Erik's direction.

"Yes, thank you. Ciao Federico, ciao Elena; it was lovely to meet you at last!" Meg turned back to Erik and was faced with the stony faced glare of what she could only describe as the Angel of Disapproval. Oh he was clocking up quite an array of these lately. Whatever got him through his day she supposed, but really it was mindboggling why he was glowering at _her_ in that fashion. What had _she_ done to upset him? It was not _her_ fault that Elena was the image of Christine. She was getting angry with him now that he should direct his misery towards her. Furious she squared up to him, hands on her hips and stamped her foot in frustration though she would much rather have slamed a door off its hinges or thrown something.

" WHAT? I cannot help that she looks like someone we both know! Why are you glaring at me like I had something to do with it? You are bound to be reminded of her in different ways all the time but this is Not My Fault. Perhaps I remind you of her too? Is _that_ it? Are you seeing her everywhere now?" This was cruelty, what she was doing but he had made her so angry when all she had ever done was try to help him. Why she actually cared whether he lived or depressed himself to death she would never know.

"You are NOTHING like her! Nothing...Do not _ever_ say so again." Erik could not believe this. She actually thought she reminded him of her friend. What utter nonsense! They were polar opposites in every way and if Meg could not see that he would be wasting his time pointing out the obvious. Now she did not even realise why he _was_ annoyed with her. He had not missed the wink she had gotten or the smile or indeed the resulting blush. Again! She was incapable of hiding her reaction to the flattery of the younger man and he knew Federico was lapping it up like a starved pup. Again the image of Antoinette came to him, a shiver of apprehension coursing through him at the memory of her warning before they had left Paris. He would have to find some way of discouraging this...this liaison before it got out of hand or he would have her mother to answer to and if he was honest he did not think the young Italian was entirely worthy of his little dancer; certain Antoinette would want better for her only child.

Meg could have cried and then immediately wanted to slap him. Was she _that_ plain? Was she so completely devoid of talent and attributes that she fell so terribly short when measured against the incomparable Christine? He need not have been so vehement in his reply. Sometimes he could be downright cruel and it stung in ways she did not want to acknowledge.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Okay so this day actually started in ch 11! Let me say this...no more crawling or I will be here keeping you on the edge of squee for a year (i'm just not that evil and I do actually want this to end at some point!) Anyway 3 cheers for Meg being a stroppy cow.**

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Chapter 13

Meg tried to maintain a dignified silence the whole way to the post office lest Erik question her. She could not deal with listening to the sound of his haughty voice at the moment; the last words he uttered having sent her to the depths of despair for a variety of different reasons. He had shouted at her in such a violent manner that she could not help the sting of tears to her eyes although she had managed to keep it hidden, choosing to walk behind for once. He could make use of his superior internal compass and she would have quiet for a time while she attempted to fathom why he had been so cruel. Had she not saved him from the Parisian mob, secreted him away until she could get him out of France and then brought him to the one place she knew he would have a chance at life? Did that not count for _anything_? No, apparently not when she was _nothing_ like Christine. The more she thought about her friend the more she began to resent her for a multitude of sins that were not even hers alone.

She knew this was not fair but she did not feel particularly fair at the moment. She felt as if she were surplus to requirements. She was not used to being shouted at like that and to hear how very much he had meant it really poured salt in the wound. If she was not comparable to Christine and therefore unlikely to remind him of her then what in the name of God made him so angry with her? He was an enigma and while mostly his little oddities amused and intrigued her, today they just made her want to hit him. He may have meant what he said but he did not have to say it. He of all people should realise just how much simple words could hurt? She was never so sure that Christine was better off without him; he would have had her in floods of tears on an almost constant basis having no concept of engaging his brain before he spoke.

Meg had never been so quiet for such an extended period of time and it irked him. Erik recognised correctly that she had been in foul humour from the moment she stepped onto the dock. They had practically had a shouting match on the quayside and she had gone and stamped her foot at him again. He had sworn before that he would remain unaffected by her little temper tantrums but her silence unnerved him. Had she _really_ thought she would remind him of her friend? Aside from the fact of their friendship they were nothing alike and he would have thought that was blatantly obvious. Women, he was rapidly discovering were a complete mystery.

He was leading the way for a change, Meg wanting to walk behind and he could feel the hair standing on the back of his neck from the daggers he was sure she was throwing at him. In the midst of all the tension and his subsequent bewilderment he was barely noticing as people brushed past him. Finally he could see the post office, crowds milling about outside and her turned back to Meg. She was dragging her feet, head bowed as if in defeat and he could just make out the redness on her cheeks which was not a remnant of her earlier blush. Had she been crying?

"Meg, we are here." She looked up staring fixedly at his nose, refusing to make eye contact. What the devil was wrong with her? She appeared to be ignoring him now as she just brushed past him and said nothing.

"Why so silent?"

"I do not wish to speak to you." Meg was determined to stay mad with him as long as it took for him to realise what a pig he had been or until she felt better about making him suffer for it; whichever was the sooner.

"Why not?" Erik was baffled. She was acting very strangely and not at all like the woman he was familiar with.

"Because I do not like you very much at this moment." There, she said it. In fact she did not like him _one_ bit. "And before you even _think_ about asking...you know _exactly_ why." Meg stormed off towards the huge arched building that housed the Rialto Post Office, clutching her letter tightly in her hand leaving a perplexed Erik in her wake.

Almost two weeks after arriving in Venice they were finally admitted through the great iron clad doors of St Mark's and as it was almost closing time the huge building was nearly deserted. Erik was getting used to being ignored, having been subjected to a wall of silence all the way from Ponte di Rialto. Now they were _both_ standing in silence, struck dumb by the stunning beauty of the great basilica and Erik suddenly felt very small; nothing he read would ever have done it justice. The gilded mosaics that covered the entire ceiling shimmered in the candle light and cast a golden glow all around giving the entire space an otherworldly feel that he imagined heaven must look like. The smell of frankincense hung heavily in the air and he was almost faint with the overwhelming sense of peace that pervaded. He imagined that nothing bad could ever happen in a place like this, even to him. He watched as Meg's eyes travelled across every surface eagerly drinking in every detail, her previous melancholy temporarily forgotten. Tentatively he followed her progress through the huge building, keeping a safe distance behind her; hoping she would eventually cave in and ask the million and one questions he knew she was bound to have.

It had been a long time since she had been in a proper church, only ever visiting the tiny chapel in the opera house when she wanted a bit of peace and quiet provided Christine was not there which now she thought of it had seemed like _all_ the time. Meg could not believe the immensity and sheer opulence of the place, dripping in gold which reached all the way up into the huge domes that crowned it. There seemed to be nooks and crannies everywhere, another secret little chapel around every corner. The smell of incense which she had always associated with death and funerals would now forever be entwined with the memory of this beautiful, decadent, heady place. There was a huge bank of candles in front of one of the side altars and she was drawn to the flickering light, registering the light footsteps of her shadow behind her. Erik was bound to be in a spin in a place like this...so much history, architectural significance and every wall heavy with the work of old masters. She rummaged in her little drawstring purse for a few coins and took three long, slender tapers in her hand from the huge stack beside the money box. She had only ever lit candles for the dead as she supposed was customary, when one of her Populaire family had passed on...like Madame Lemoine who was predecessor to Mme Fleury, the wardrobe mistress. She had loved her as the grandmother she never had or a fairy godmother from one of her childhood fairytales.

Erik watched in fascination as Meg lit the three candles she had chosen one by one, taking a few moments before she moved to the next and frowning for some minutes after she had finished, staring determinedly into the flame of the last. He had lit candles all the time but they were a necessity for light rather than for any means of reflection on the past. Who did she mourn? Her father perhaps? He did not know much about Antoinette's family only that her husband had died when Meg was small and in all the years he had been at the Populaire had never seen or heard of any other relatives.

"Do you miss them?" Erik did not know quite how to ask but was curious all the same.

"Miss who?" Miss the candles...he was the one with the hundreds of candles. What _is_ he talking about now? Always riddles.

"The people you lit them for...I assume they are family you lost?" Perhaps he should not pry. Perhaps this was painful for her.

"Oh...no...I mean I did not light them for anyone that _died_ although that is normally what is done. I lit them for the living...it seemed appropriate here." She did not want to think about death or the past in this serene place. It was full of calm and peace and that is what she lit her tapers for.

"Oh, who then?" Really he should stop pestering; she might not want to share that information with him but he supposed she would be quick about telling him so if that were the case.

"Well...I lit the first one for Maman so that she may have the strength and courage to triumph in the face of adversity. She will need it now when they begin to rebuild." She winced as she thought about her second candle and really did not want to make an already painful afternoon even worse but neither would she lie to him.

"The second one was for Christine...so that she may be happy and content with the choices she has made." Meg watched carefully for any sign that her words had hurt him but Erik remained defiant in his outward appearance.

He swallowed when she mentioned her friend and concentrated on breathing evenly. She was altruistic in her wishes for others, especially Christine even if he could not quite bring himself to feel the same. "And the last?"

"The last one was for you...because you need all the help you can get." She could still be mad at him; just in a more serene, ladylike way and it did not have to stop her praying for divine intervention on his behalf...for the redemption of his soul and the mending of his heart. But he did not need to know that.

Well that explained the extended period of frowning, Erik thought as he watched her wander off again into the main aisle, tactfully making her exit; leaving him alone to ponder her words. This was a sacred, consecrated space and Meg had lit a candle for _him_ within its hallowed walls. Despite her earlier anger (and he still could not figure out what _that_ was all about) his little dancer had found it in her heart to make a wish for him, sending it out into the great beyond to whoever watched over them all. No one up there had ever listened to _him_ before but maybe _Meg's_ intentions, whatever they were, would not fall on deaf ears.

Meg had had quite enough of wandering around in circles by herself so she made her way back to the bank of candles where Erik remained standing bathed in their warm glow, transfixed. The flickering light had caught in his eye and made it sparkle and dance in a way she had never seen before. She wished she could see all of his face as the candle light had softened all the sharp angles and smoothed out his frown so that he looked almost angelic. Almost. That spark in his eye was most definitely _not_ if the annoying little lurch in her stomach was anything to go by. So _what_ if he had magnificent eyes? She had a magnificent ability to stand en pointe for longer than anyone she knew though she doubted that was going to make anyone's insides churn the way hers currently were. Snap out of it Meg! She really wanted to know about this wonderful place and Erik was like her personal encyclopaedia.

"Erik?" She watched as he turned his gaze towards her, his right side to the light, the left in shadow. He turned the right side of mouth up in a tentative almost-smile and raised his visible eyebrow in answer.

Oh lord! Please stop. Whatever you are doing, please stop! Meg's knees almost went from under her and her already delicate stomach flipped over like a crepe on a hot skillet. She had managed to successfully avoid acknowledging the fact that he was so devastating all the way from Paris, having had no place in the current scheme of things but now it came crashing down around her ears. On their own she could have coped with his eye or his smirk or that eyebrow he was incredibly fond of exercising but all three at the same time left her nowhere to turn. His stature had increased noticeably since she spoke and she knew OG was not far away. Damn you Erik, you're not being fair. She had never experienced anything like this before and she really had no clue how to handle it. Her mouth would not open, her throat locked shut. Her normally light feet felt like they had been cemented into the floor and he was still staring. He had come forward a step and as desperately as she wanted to retreat she could not. The closer he got the thicker the air became; the combination of _it_, the pungent aroma of incense and the intimate light sharpening her senses to a fine point. She was convinced she could actually hear the candles flickering. This was way beyond her experience, having never felt the focus of male attention before if she discounted the leering stage hands who had shouted obscenities and suggestive remarks at her and the other girls. And she would have to discount them because whether her maddening friend knew it or not, he was in a league of his own.

"Meg! Are you quite alright? You look as if you might faint." Erik had been watching her having what he could only assume was some sort of spiritual experience He supposed it was entirely likely in a church...maybe she had seen a vision. Her eyes had glazed over completely, her hands falling limply to her sides and she looked to be staring straight through him to a point at the back of his skull. She began to sway and he was suddenly gripped by the realisation that she was about to fall to her knees. She would crack her skull on the stone floor! Shooting a hand out he gripped her arm just above the elbow and held her steady until she composed herself. He noticed the mist lift from her eyes just before she squeezed them tightly closed and shook her head as if clearing a fog.

Breathe Meg, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Breathe! She wished for one of Erik's trapdoors to open and swallow her through the floor. She was mortified and terrified and so ridiculously confused. He had stopped her falling...she had almost made a total fool of herself by fainting. Meg Giry did _not_ faint. Ever. Even when her toes had bled and her calves had burned from hours of practice without a break, little food and dizzy from sleep deprivation. _Christine_ had fainted –a lot but _her_? Never. So much for being serene and ladylike.

"Thank you, sorry; I am not sure what happened. Perhaps I am just overwhelmed." It was nothing but the truth. "Can we sit down in one of the pews for a while and then you can explain to me where all this gold came from?" Give him something to do, make him churn out endless random facts about the architecture, the art, anything; anything to take his focus off her so she could breathe.

"It is a rather overwhelming place so I am hardly surprised. Come...did you realise that each of the five domes produce a very different sound when music is performed here? It is a wonder of architectural acoustics." Erik kept his hand at her elbow and steered her up the main aisle and into a wooden pew, in his element now that she had finally given up her silence.

The minute they got back to the little house above the pasticceria Meg excused herself. Dinner would wait but her sanity could not.

"Um...I am going to take a bath so if you can wait a while to eat I will try not to be very long." She felt sticky and hot from the walk and longed to scrub away the turmoil of the day, feeling somehow that if she was squeaky clean she could start afresh with a clear head.

"Yes of course. Perhaps you will feel better for it?" She had been silent yet again on the walk back from San Marco but it was not the angry, vibrating silence of before. It was as if something had startled her in the basilica and she had become jumpy at the slightest provocation. Women, he marvelled (and not for the first time that day), were a complete mystery. Perhaps it was hormones. He had often overheard Antoinette blaming a good portion of her problems with the girls in her care on hormones. Perhaps he would play something...after this morning's foray with Mozart he was eager to get back to it and it would serve to release some of the discord in his mind. Maybe he could play something that would appeal to Meg, something soft and gentle that would empty her mind. He was not above using underhanded means to ensure she was in a far better humour after her bath than before. He suspected unless some miracle happened in the meantime, Meg would come down the stairs before dinner and proceed to clatter pots with a vengeance and he was not enamoured with the idea.

Meg was never so thankful for the luxury of running water and her own bath. She stripped to the skin and stepped into the big copper tub that was at least half as big again as the one her mother owned. She had decanted half of her mother's precious rose oil into a smaller bottle before she left, wanting something to remind her of home and she intended to make it last; only allowing a few drops to fall into the warm water. Sinking down, letting her shoulders fall below the surface she expelled the breath she had not realised she had been holding. With it went the anxious, squirming sensation she had carried all the way from San Marco. Oh bliss! Her feet ached from those horrific boots – she would have to speak to Erik about a long overdue shopping trip. She sank further letting the water flow over the top of her head, soaking her hair and wished her mother was there to wash it for her. It just was not the same when she did it herself. The feeling of calm washed over her as she slowly inhaled the steam and scent of roses. She was almost sleepy, her head falling back against the rim when her composure split at the seams, her stomach releasing a flutter of butterflies all eager to test their wings.

Erik! He was playing downstairs and the notes were wafting up the stairs, around corners, through the floorboards. It was something slow and dreamy, very different to what she had heard earlier. Breathe. Determined to relax; she gave herself up to the music swirling around her and lay back again, closing her eyes and imagining it was his way of apologising for being such a clot earlier. She could hardly blame him for what happened in the basilica; he could not help it if she was suddenly incapacitated by his eyes...his mouth...his hands...goodness this was ridiculous! But he did play so beautifully and oh, she recognised it now as it swelled to a crescendo; it was Chopin's Nocturne.

Erik smiled to himself as he imagined the baby giraffe splashing around in that huge copper bath as she caught the notes he sent floating up the stairs. He sincerely hoped she was not cross with him anymore; he could not handle the weird silences for much longer. Companionable silence was one thing and actually comfortable but the determined wall she had put up all afternoon was stifling. As he played he thought about the candle she had lit for him and what her wishes might have been. He could not imagine her praying for anything bad so he contented himself with the thought that she had sent forth only good intentions. He would take a leaf out of her book and so sent forth only the best notes, putting every effort into make his beautiful violin sing for his cross friend. As he walked slowly around the room he paused at the balcony doors spying his young friend Bella hanging out of her first floor window across the courtyard; her chin resting on her elbows as she too listened.

The familiar and unsettling scent of Meg's rose oil preceded her down the stairs followed by a lightness of step that boded well for a change in her humour.

"Better?" Erik was careful with his words, not wanting to break the spell he had woven lest she reverted to the silence _before_ dinner.

"Yes, _much_ and thank you for the beautiful serenade. I am holding you personally responsible for my prune-like state!" Meg had lingered far longer than she had intended, lazily immersed in the haunting melody invading every space around her. She could almost believe he was singing instead of playing; it was uncanny what he could do with his instrument. She had never heard any of the orchestra play like that.

"I am glad you liked it." He gave her a small bow in acknowledgment of her thanks. Erik did not think she looked anything like a prune; she was all pink-cheeked and glowing and her shimmering hair hung loose about her shoulders and down her back. He caught a waft of her as she glided past him into the kitchen and he swallowed. That rose oil was doing funny things to his brain again. A rumble from his stomach reminded him to think of anything else before he began losing the ability to speak again.

Across the courtyard Rosa and Marcello Pellizzari stood, arms around each other in awe at the magic coming from above their little bakery. Rosa turned back to her husband of twenty five years and looked questioningly into his eyes. "What do you think amore mia? I suspected from the start that she was not his nurse and now I am sure of it...he was playing to her."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Sorry for the delay is getting this out...work induced exhaustion and a bit of a wall re the story i'm afraid but I won't bore you! Anyway, Bella's back. Oh in case anyone's interested I have put the Don Juan premiere as 2nd last Sat in March, the 18th to be exact and ch14 happens on 15th April. I'm using 1871 calendar (thanks google) which helps keep me grounded timewise.**

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Chapter 14

Easter, 1871 came and went. Erik and Meg had avoided going out much over the festivities as the city had become completely septic with tourists. It had gotten so bad that Meg _herself_ was beginning to develop a phobia of crowds and small spaces. Visitors blatantly refused to comply with the local custom of staying in single file and keeping the left shoulder to the wall which made walking about nigh on impossible. She had helped Rosa in the shop for few hours each day in the week running up to Easter as they had been overwhelmed with business prior to the second largest holiday in the Venetian calendar. It gave her something useful to do and got her away from Erik who in turn was afforded some privacy to do whatever it was that he did when she was not there to annoy him.

It must be difficult for him to adjust to having company, Meg thought, being in the presence of another all the time, having spent his entire life alone. She shuddered at the idea of being by herself _all_ the time with no one to talk to, to share meals with or laugh with. What happened when he was sick? Did he even get sick? She was a complete misery when she was unwell; it was her biggest professional downfall and her mother never let her forget it. She could cope with endless training, little sleep and performance after performance without flagging but when illness struck her down she was useless. It was the only time she succumbed to staying in bed because she became so completely depleted that she had no choice and if she were honest it was nice to be coddled once in a while. Erik would have had no one to even notice when he was under the weather or to care if he felt rotten. She could not imagine it being particularly healthy living underground in the cold and damp...brrrr...he must think this place paradise in comparison. Warm, soft bed linen every night and sunshine almost every day. These were things Meg had always taken for granted but since coming to Venice had begun to see things differently - as if through Erik's eyes. It was a double edged sword making her ridiculously thankful and happy for everything she had but unbelievably sad and just a little angry for everything that Erik did not.

Now it was the Saturday after Easter; the mass exodus having continued all week. It meant that Meg could finally go outside and wander about; she wanted to stand in the middle of Piazza San Marco and twirl with her arms outstretched. She wanted new shoes that did not pinch her feet and some new clothes that did not scratch and itch. Erik had told her to do her worst, taunted by a raised eyebrow that defied her to make any sort of dent in his funds. Well, she had drafted Rosa for the task and she was going to show him just how dangerous a game he was playing by giving her free reign with his bank account. He obviously had _no_ idea about women and their relationship with clothes! She felt like her birthday and Christmas had arrived all at once and could not even begin to decide what she wanted to buy first. This would have to be done in stages though so as not to attract suspicion as to why she should have such an enormous disposable income.

"I am off now...do you need anything from the shops?" Meg pulled on her shawl and gathered her little bag from the table. She was meeting Rosa downstairs in the pasticceria and she planned on having a girls only day; the older woman delighted to have been asked and only too eager to have an excuse to shop for something new to impress her husband.

"No thank you, except if you happen to be passing the art suppliers and think of it then perhaps some charcoal. They were out of it the last time. Other than that I expect to see you back here heaving with bags and parcels and emptied pockets although I sincerely doubt you will manage it."

"Erik in case you had forgotten I am supposed to be your lowly nurse. I cannot very well go around buying up Venice like an heiress in front of Rosa – what would she think? That _me_ flouncing about in shot silk is somehow vital to your recovery?" Having access to that kind of money was the preserve of the elite and their mistresses. The very idea of what Rosa might deduce from it was colouring her to her roots.

Erik was quite amused by the idea of Meg flouncing although there was not much room for it here. She had only ever worn those serviceable and plain dresses her mother had picked for her so he was intrigued as to what she would transform herself into when given the opportunity. He knew better than anyone that costuming was vital – he always felt so much more together when he was properly turned out and could not see why it should be any different for Meg. She had probably had very little to spend in the past and even less occasion to dress up, likely spending all of her time either in stage costume or practice dress. Well he sincerely hoped she would rise to the challenge and spend to her heart's content, even if it meant secretly squirreling away a dress a day lest anyone catch a whiff of scandal; Heaven forbid people should think she was someone's "bit of muslin".

He watched her disappear through the balcony doors and down the steps to meet Rosa in the shop below and recalled that exactly four weeks had passed since he had been found by Madame Giry's petite daughter and life as he knew it was turned on its head. Four weeks to the day since he had crossed that bridge between sanity and madness, four weeks since he had laid bare his heart only to have it thrown back in his distorted face and four weeks since he had destroyed everything that had once been his half life. At times it felt as if it had all happened only yesterday and at others it seemed as if he had lived in these rooms with Meg his whole life. Here, above the Pellizzaris she had created a safe place for him to come to terms with himself, his actions and those of others; she had been both a frustrating and fascinating companion but always constant and always reliable. He realised he felt safe when she was near, knowing somehow that she would not let harm come to him. It was a feeling he was wholly unfamiliar with having spent his entire existence either hiding or looking over his shoulder. It was a warm liberating feeling, one which encouraged the tight bands across his shoulders and either side of his neck to slacken. How unexpected? That _he_ a man of almost thirty-five who had terrorised the Populaire as OG had been given a soft place to fall by a young woman who had every reason to want him swinging from his neck. But he had given up trying to figure her out; she would no doubt continue to surprise him.

Meg had not been shopping for clothes since the week before the Masquerade when she had collected the new whalebone corset that fitted beneath her dress. She almost couldn't breathe that night it was laced so tightly and that was _before_ the Phantom had made his show stopping entrance. Now she was standing in front of a full length mirror trying to decide whether she was much improved by the addition of a bustle. Always she had worn dresses or skirts with a nipped in waist and full skirt as that was what showed her steps to best advantage. This was different. She was not a scantily clad ballerina anymore; she was a young lady now and should begin to dress like one. Oh she didn't _know_? Where was Erik when she needed him? She just _knew_ he would have known exactly what would look right. He always looked impeccable save for the night she found him. He seemed to have an eye for aesthetics and dressed perfectly for his height and shape. He would laugh if he saw her, all feminine intuition in the area of fashion deserting her now that the hour had arrived for her to make use of it.

"Rosa? Help!" Why was this not more fun? Tears of frustration welled in her eyes at not being able to enjoy herself when she knew any other woman would have given her right arm to be in her position, armed as she was with more money than sense and Erik's explicit instructions that she spend it.

"Oh Meg! What are these tears for? I have never known a woman to cry over having to buy new dresses!"

"Rosa I cannot decide," Meg wailed as she attempted a twirl in the cramped space, swamped by yards of fabric. "Erik...I mean my employer said I should get whatever I need but it's been so long since I bought anything...I do not know where to start."

"He is not _really_ your employer is he Meg...Signore Erik? There is something in the way you sometimes speak of him that tells me so but I do not think you are his mistress either." The older woman cocked her head thoughtfully to one side and took Meg's hand in hers somehow knowing the young girl before her needed to speak. "Why _does_ a young woman come to Venice with a much older man and pretend to be his nurse?"

Oh no! How had she known and for how long? Stupid girl...speaking of him in so familiar a way. What could she tell her that would not be a lie and yet keep their secret, Erik's secret?

"I have known Signore Erik most of my life. He and Maman knew each other as children and I suppose you could say he has kept watch over me for as long as I can remember." It was not a lie, she did know _of_ him just not that he liked his coffee black with lots of sugar and he did in a sense watch over them all as OG.

"Ah...that explains how you appeared much more than what you said when you came enquiring about the rooms above the shop. He allowed you to speak for both of you which I would not have expected had he been your employer. There is more I think, is there not? What has brought you from your mama to a foreign land?"

How would she get around this one? If she even mentioned the Populaire they were finished. What would Erik say when he found out? Think Meg.

"Maman felt I needed to broaden my education and thought to take me travelling but circumstances prevented her from doing so at the last moment. Rather fortuitously (although not for him) Signore Erik had just suffered a terrible blow – his fiancée left him for a much younger man – it was quite awful. He wanted to get away from all reminders of her and informed Maman he would be going abroad for a time. She begged him to take me along; I think she thought I might pull him out of his melancholy and that he might teach me a little of the world. So here we are...and of course most people would not really understand so we thought it best to have some sort of reasonable explanation." She was quite proud of her story! It was not a hundred miles from the truth. She would have to tell Erik of course and fervently hoped that he would not be _terribly_ angry with her.

"Oh how awful for him! The poor man. Well there is no greater place to mend a broken heart than Venezia! I can see why you felt the need for discretion but you can be assured your secret is safe with us. Why does he wear the bandages; Bella mentioned the angels liked him even more than her? Was he not _really_ injured then?"

Rosa's big warm eyes held only kindness and Meg felt she was not asking to be nosy, more out of concern. "Yes Bella was very sweet to him; I don't think anyone had ever explained things quite like that to him before. He was not injured, at least not physically – you see he was born looking a little different and most people tend not to understand. He does not socialise much but Elena has asked us to her wedding and I really hope he will come."

Rosa observed how the younger woman's eyes softened as she spoke of her friend. She heard the affection in her voice and recognised the concern for his welfare. All of what Meg had told her went a long way to explaining what she herself had seen with her own eyes. But there still remained the mystery of the night she and her husband had listened to Signore Erik playing the most heartrending version of Chopin's Nocturne that one could almost say he was trying to woo his young charge. How interesting! What had begun as a mercy mission in Meg's mother's eyes was growing wings of a different sort from what Rosa could see. The poor girl was in a state over buying a dress! There was nothing surer than a mystifying man to addle a woman's brain to _that_ extent.

"So exactly how much do you need? Are we talking one or two dresses or an entire wardrobe? And how much do you have to spend?"

"Oh goodness, well I really did not bring much with me so it is probably closer to the latter. As to the budget...he, I mean Signore Erik told me to get whatever I needed. He is a wealthy man and I think he feels he needs to spoil me on my mother's behalf. Will you help me?" Meg handed Rosa the little drawstring bag stuffed with notes and watched her eyes widen in astonishment.

"Well if he insists then we shall have to oblige! Take that hideous red thing off and wait here while I find something more suitable. You will need something for Elena's wedding of course but there is plenty of time for that." Rosa swept out of the tiny changing rooms with a sparkle of mischief in her eye and rubbed her hands together gleefully. Oh how wonderful, a perfect little hourglass figure and practically no spending limit; she would see her young friend admirably attired and perhaps turn the head of her heartsick friend while she was as it!

Erik was sitting at the small table inside the balcony doors minding his own business when a brown shiny head came bobbing up the outside steps. Bella! His heart plummeted to his feet when he saw she was followed closely behind by her sister. It was uncanny how closely she resembled the one he tried desperately to forget. He thought he had locked that fact away in the farthest reaches of his mind where all things Christine were buried but now the lid of the chest flew open and he struggled to compose himself as the little girl came bouncing through the open doors.

"Ciao Signore Erik! We brought you something. Papa knew Signorina Meg would be out _all_ day with Mama and would not have time to cook later so he sent up some fish stew. It's _my_ favourite so I know you will love it." Bella danced around his legs as she chattered away while her sister placed the heavy iron pan on the countertop in the kitchen. She turned and bobbed a courtesy and made to leave catching Bella by the hand as she passed.

"Are you not terribly bored by yourself? Can I stay and keep you company for a while until Mama comes back?" She turned to her sister and gazed up at her with pleading eyes. "Please can I stay Elena? Papa won't mind and then you will not have to watch me." She added the last part for good measure knowing her sister would far rather be free to do disgusting things like kiss her boyfriend Vitto.

"Oh all right then, but only if the signore does not mind for I am sure he would rather have some peace and quiet." Elena looked apologetically at Erik and then down at her little sister who had pulled her hand free and had attached herself to her new grown up friend instead. It was odd how her normally shy sister had become fascinated with the gloomy man before her.

"No it is quite alright, she can stay if she wishes. I will send her down when Signorina Meg comes back." It was late in the afternoon and they could not possibly be much longer. Meg would probably have bought one pair of shoes and one dress and then given up. He watched as Elena flew out the door lest he change his mind and raced down the steps, no doubt to meet her beloved. She was so sure of herself, quite unlike the delicate creature he had set free. He would have allowed himself to think on it a little longer were it not for the tugging on his pant leg. He looked down and frowned at his little doll staring up at him, arm wrapped around his leg.

"I heard you playing from my window...it was really pretty. Did the signorina like it too? I wish I could play like that but I'm too small; I already told you about the _disaster_ with my piano lessons." Bella eyes rolled back in her head as she continued to assault Erik's ears with question after question. She never seemed to get out of breath and he noticed she hopped from one foot to the other as she spoke. She was just like a little jumping bean – so much energy – and he nearly laughed at her dramatic woes over her inability to play music.

"I saw you leaning over your windowsill you little minx! Should you not have been in bed? Signorina Meg was very grumpy that day so I played her something to cheer her up and you will be glad to know that it worked."

"Can I see her again? I was very careful the last time." Erik followed her pointed finger to the case where he kept the violin and smiled to himself. Perhaps her feet could not yet reach the pedals on a piano but his precious violin may just afford some light at the end of the tunnel for his eager little friend.

"Go and sit down and I shall see if she wants to come out and see you." While he had never done this before and would not normally allow anyone near his instrument an idea was forming in his mind; this little girl was careful and held the respect for his violin that she deserved. He had let her hold her before so why shouldn't he let her try? Taking the bow in his right hand and his hallowed Stradivarius in his left he crossed the floor to where Bella sat patiently waiting on the overstuffed couch. He sat beside her and placed the bow across his lap while he concentrated on getting her tiny hand around the scroll so she could hold her properly.

"Now lift her with your right hand and place her gently on your left shoulder so that your chin sits on the rest." He watched carefully as her eyes widened in awe at what he was allowing her to do. Bella moved just as he asked, jiggling around until she felt comfortable although the instrument was a little big for her. He handed the bow to her right hand and moved her fingers until they were holding it correctly. Her bottom lip began to tremble and her eyes welled up.

"What's the matter little one?" Erik had never seen anyone have this kind of reaction to an instrument before.

"I'm afraid I will let her fall; she's so precious and I'm too small for her." Big fat tears were running down her pink cheeks now and Erik was astonished. He put his right arm around her so his hand covered hers on the bow and then put his left hand underneath his violin to support it so it could not fall. "There, you cannot let her fall and if she does it will be my fault. No one is too small for the violin; mine might be a little large but they come in all sizes so that you can play at any age. Now, put the fingers of your left hand where I tell you and perhaps she will let you play something."

After several frustrating attempts to follow instructions Bella's lip began to wobble again and Erik feared the oncoming tears. If she was standing up he was sure she would have stamped her foot just like someone else he knew. "You do not look happy Bella? You are doing exceptionally well for your first time; the violin is a very difficult instrument." He hoped that heaping praise upon her would curtail the frustration he was becoming familiar with.

"It's just so hard and my fingers are _still_ too short. I will have to wait until I am as big as Elena before I can play _anything_."

He did not want her to go home upset and feeling like a complete failure but she was right, her fingers were too small for his violin...but his were not. He moved closer to her and prised the fingers of her left hand from the strings replacing them with his own. "If you put your hand over mine then it will be almost as if you are doing it and you will be able to feel the different positions without hurting your fingers. Shall we try?" He had no idea if this would work and it was a strange sensation not to feel his precious beneath his chin but for Bella he would try.

Meg had never spent so much money in her life. She and Rosa must have been to every reputable clothing emporium in Venice and followed Erik's instructions to the letter. She had not quite managed to spend it all but there was always next week. Struggling briefly on the stairs she finally made it up into the living room followed by Rosa who carried the rest of her packages. She dropped the bandbox she carried in her right hand together with the armful of paper wrapped packages in her left and stared open mouthed at the most adorable sight she had ever seen. How could the sight of Erik teaching little Bella to play make her insides melt? Was his every action, every glance to liquefy her forevermore? Breathe.

Rosa caught her breath at the sight of her youngest child attempting to play Signore Erik's violin. She could see her tiny fingers shadowed his on the strings and that his hand guided hers on the bow. She stole a sideways glance at her shopping companion and registered the look of wonder and awe that spread across her face. How delicious! Between her bambina and her new friend this poor man would soon forget the heartache he had run from.

Both Meg and Rosa clapped and cheered enthusiastically when the little performance finished and Erik made Bella take a very theatrical bow for her part in it. He busied himself putting his violin back in her case while Bella and her mother said their goodbye's to Meg, unaccustomed as he was to that much attention.

"Thank you for helping me...maybe I can come back again soon." Little Bella had wrapped her two hands around one of his and was practically swinging out of him like a tiny monkey.

"You can come and help me play anytime you wish little one. You are not as small as you think." He watched as she skipped off down the steps followed by her mother who gave him the most enigmatic smile so that he was left feeling like he had missed some vital part of the conversation.

"Well Signorina, I deduce from the evidence that you have had a productive afternoon?" He took in the mountain of packages piled on the living room floor and calculated that there was probably more on order. He was impressed.

"A gentleman would not ask...and a lady never tells."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N Aplogies for the delay in posting but this needed ALOT of attention and ch16 will follow very shortly. I hope I have done this justice so far as this is an important one. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 15

Meg had spent most of Sunday fantasising about her new wardrobe and lovingly putting every carefully chosen item away. She had, with Rosa's help, purchased several dresses, long skirts, blouses, lots of lovely new under things and new shoes. She felt like a new woman! They had decided to leave the decision regarding what she would wear to Elena's wedding until a later date as Rosa assured her it would need their full attention and that she had plans for that particular dress but would not elaborate further.

Erik had helped her carry the packages from the pile she had made on the living room floor up to her bedroom and actually smirked at her as the pile re-formed on her bed. He seemed to be secretly impressed by her efforts to burn a hole in his extremely deep pockets. Well the way she figured, she had performed in practically every Populaire production for the past ten years in one form or another so she had contributed to the revenue that had paid his ridiculous salary. She would not feel bad about spending his money most especially if he didn't.

Monday morning of a new week began in a brand new dress.

"Good morning Erik." She took in the forced calm on his face, the straightness of his shoulders and the telltale movement of his jaw that meant he was grinding his teeth. Overall he was looking particularly ominous this morning whatever had crawled under his skin. Well she would ignore it because she was wearing a new dress, butter soft kid slippers and she felt wonderful; not even Erik was going to spoil her mood.

"Meg." Erik was incensed despite the vision of spring that had floated down the stairs. Federico had tripped up the outside steps with their regular basket of pastries about a half an hour previously and he had spent every minute since staring fixedly at it. The young Italian had pointed out an envelope "_for the bella signorina_" tucked in amongst the sticky delights before he had smiled and waved behind him, disappearing about his business again. The unmitigated nerve! What flowery words had he written to his little dancer? Not content with sending fruit anymore? His fingers itched to rip the envelope open but he knew if Meg were in his place she would never do it.

"Oh! Did _you_ go down for them this morning?" Meg looked confusedly at the basket and then dumbfounded at Erik. Had he changed his routine and ventured out without his bandages...had someone been unkind? No, he would never do that. But then what was the stiffness in his tone all about? Had she done something...perhaps her dress looked awful though she knew it did not?

"No I did not. The son brought them up a little while ago..." Erik cleared his throat, "and left a note for you." Even saying it was making his neck itch. There must be hundreds of young glossy haired girls up and down every canal in Venice without having to come sniffing around Meg! He had almost forgotten about the peaches and the incident in the gondola as there had been nothing obvious since so he did not feel like he had to speak to her about it. But the young Pellizzari had obviously just been biding his time.

Meg reached across and plucked the letter from the basket and pulled out a chair to sit across from the storm cloud who had just rumbled at her. What in the devil was eating him? Oh Maman!

"Maman has written finally!" she ripped the envelope open, not noticing when something fell out and floated to the floor to land at Erik's feet.

Antoinette? It was a letter from Antoinette? Of course it was. Idiot! He frowned to himself at the relief that fact had brought him. He spotted a smaller pink envelope just poking out from underneath the floor length tablecloth and silently retrieved it, watching Meg as she munched a pastry while intently digesting her mother's missive.

_Ma fille chérie_

_You cannot imagine how it eased my mind to receive word from you at last. I am so relieved you have reached your destination and yes, I can imagine Venice being the perfect place for our "friend". You probably do not even realise what a brave thing you have done but I am certain it is not lost on your companion. _

_Since you departed it has been a hive of activity here and not all of it good. The gendarmes returned as soon as the pompiers declared the building safe and spent hours rifling through the cellars. If there was anything of value it was likely destroyed when they ransacked it. A statement was issued just after the fire declaring the mysterious Don Juan dead - you may have seen it in the French papers – and their searches since have turned up nothing new. Without a body the investigation is at a standstill and honestly I am of the impression that the de Chagny family are loath to have the spotlight on them for any longer than necessary. Messieurs André and Firmin are trying everything to extricate themselves from their contracts and as a result the Viscomte has withdrawn funds for the rebuild until the managers acquiesce. Oh Meg it is a mess! Meanwhile all the staff still have to be paid and I have just been trying to keep the girls in their usual routine; I think it helps them to focus on something other than the chaos all around._

"No! They cannot do that." Meg almost choked on her pastry and reached for her coffee, indignant at the two men and just a little at the Viscomte although she could understand why he was doing it.

"Do what? Who?" Erik's ears pricked at her reaction and his stomach rolled with something akin to apprehension. It had to be news from Paris.

"Um...the managers, Fermin and André. They are trying to get out of their contract and Maman says Ra..I mean the patron will not release funds to help rebuild until they stop. None of the staff have been paid."

"Fools!" Erik did not know who he was directing it at more. All three of them he supposed...the ones who would not listen, who refused to heed his warnings and the man he held responsible for destroying his well laid plans. As Meg continued to read he noticed her demeanour change quite dramatically. Her hand moved to cover her mouth and her eyes flickered from the page to him and back again.

_Christine came to see me when the Viscomte met with the managers and she was most upset to find you gone. She was taken back to the de Chagny estate after the fire and remained closeted for some days – the Viscomte mentioned she had been quite overcome with nerves. His sister resides there so she is not entirely without female company. Their betrothal has recently been announced officially in the papers here and an October wedding is expected. I have enclosed a note from her that she asked me to pass on...perhaps you could write to her and put her mind at ease?_

_I must finish now as I can hear a furore in the corridor...they are like children! Please keep in touch my love and perhaps you will come home for a visit soon? Pass my regards to our friend; I can appreciate that you have your hands full but I know of no one else who could manage as admirably as you. Never give in to tantrums!_

_Bisous_

_Maman_

Christine wrote to me...but of course she would. Who else is she going to need to talk to? Who else has she _ever_ needed to talk to? Where was it? Maman had said she had enclosed it...surely she had not forgotten. Meg snatched up the envelope and looked inside, and then all around the coffee pot, pastry basket and sugar bowl before raising her eyes slowly to meet the steely blue ones across from her.

"Looking for this?" Erik held the pink envelope by one corner between the tips of his thumb and forefinger as if it were dipped in acid. He knew exactly who it was from and that fact combined with the sickly smell of whatever had been sprayed on it was giving him a headache.

"Where did you get that?" Had he read it? Had he opened her letter before she came down to breakfast? No, he wouldn't dare! Of course not...stupid...her mother's letter had been sealed...but then how had he...?

"It fell to the floor when you opened the envelope," Erik answered loftily in response to her silent question, dropping the letter as if it burned rising from the table as he did so. "If you will excuse me, I shall leave you in peace."

Then he was gone, up to his room to brood no doubt. He must have known it was from her...who else would write to her, in a pink envelope no less _and_ scented...ugh! It smelled just like the stench that permeated everything in La Carlotta's dressing room – including that bad tempered little yapping rat she carried everywhere with her. Oh Christine! She tucked a finger under one corner and ripped, taking a deep breath in preparation for what was to come.

_My only friend,_

_I cannot believe you have left us all! Madame said she had sent you away to stay with an old friend while all of this blew over. What old friend? Where are you? How could you leave when you must have known the premiere was the worst night of my life? My angel is gone, they say and I cannot sleep! Raoul insisted I see the family physician and he has given me something to help but it makes me feel nauseous. I take it only because the sleeplessness is torture. Oh Meg it was horrible! Raoul, the managers and the police all forced me to sing but I wished I could have run away. I knew the minute I stepped onto the stage that something awful would happen but I never expected HIM to take Piangi's place! I almost could not do it – what they asked, his voice was so seductive – but I knew it had to end. Oh why did I touch his mask? Now I cannot get that twisted face out of my mind and even the laudanum does not help. _

_Twisted_ face? What did _she_ see that I did not? How cruel – Christine had never been unkind...and she _knew_ she was walking him into a trap the minute she agreed to sing! How _could_ she? Had Erik known? Or was he so blinded by his obsession that he just did not care? Drugs...they were giving her laudanum for goodness sake! Christine should not be taking things like that...she's not strong enough! Was _no one_ thinking anymore?

_He tried to force me to stay with him, be his _wife_ – can you believe it? For years he let me believe he was an angel, sent by my poor father to help me sing. Then he forced me to choose between sparing my darling Raoul's life if I stayed or letting him die if I did not! _

Oh God no! Please no! She had no idea it had come to this, down in the candlelight...in the place she had thought beautiful but really it must have seemed like hell to her confused young friend.

_Who could make such a choice? I was so terrified so I told him I would stay...I even kissed him to convince him I was telling the truth! Meg you cannot _imagine_ the horrors I have endured! _

Which was more horrific for her? Making the only choice she could have or _forcing _herself to kiss the man who professed to love her? Still, she must have been terrified...poor Christine. Oh Erik _what_ have you done? How did you think you could win when she never loved you? Her heart broke for the futility of it all.

_He seemed to change his mind then – I think he had gone completely mad, not at all like the angel who sang to me. He let us go and now the police believe he is dead! I know I should be grateful he cannot hurt us any longer but still I wonder what happened to him after we left._

Forget him! Forget it all...what a damned mess. Meg smashed her fist onto the table upsetting the knife from her plate. Oh she wanted to scream! This was far worse than she had suspected.

_Oh I almost forgot...Raoul and I announced our engagement and he thinks we should wait until after the summer before marrying. It will give everyone enough time to forget about what happened – I do not want anything to overshadow my day! Writing just isn't the same as sitting next to you – I shall have to wait weeks and weeks to hear your thoughts. Please come home, I need you!_

_Yours in hopefulness_

_Christine_

And just like that she changed direction...was that _really_ her friend or the laudanum? How much of what she had read was real? How much was coloured by chemicals? But if even _half_ of it was true then Erik had some explaining to do and it was long overdue. She had deliberately not questioned him, feeling that it was all too raw and if she was honest, fearing the consequences. She had seen him fall apart, ripping at the seams with violent nightmares, trapped inside his own personal hell and she had no wish to visit that upon him again. But damn him she wanted answers now! Breathe...in and out...in and out...breathe.

She needed coffee and to think. Shakily she topped up her lukewarm cup adding a few spoons of sugar and then drank deeply. Her hands trembled around the china and the tremors seemed to intensify and grip her entire body all at once. Unbidden tears welled and fell, stinging as they spilled over to her hot cheeks.

"Oh Erik, what have you done..." Meg wrapped her arms around her head and flopped to the table, resting her forehead on the linen cloth, giving herself up to the tears that continued to chase down her face, tears that she had been fighting since the night of the fire.

From up in his room Erik heard something he realised he never wished to again. Meg was crying; desperate keening sounds like a lioness that has lost her cub. What in the devil had Christine said? He had sat on the edge of his bed waiting...the sense of foreboding that had started the moment he recognised the letter crashing over him; this day had been coming for a long time. Torn between the fear of the locked box in his mind he knew would be opened and the agony of hearing her in distress, he finally made the only decision he could.

"Meg?" Cautiously he stepped across the room from the bottom of the stairs and held his breath. She had her back to him and he recognized the tightness across her small shoulders that _he_ sometimes felt. She was angry and she would let him feel the full force of it any second now.

Slowly Meg raised herself up from her chair, hands braced on the table. "Sit down."

Now it begins, he thought. Carefully he approached the table giving her a wide berth as he passed. He could see the arch forming at the top of her spine, shoulders squared, head bowed and knuckles white with tension. Pulling out his chair he waited for her to be seated opposite him. And he waited.

"I said sit." Meg ground out through clenched teeth, trying to keep hold of what little composure she had. Then she realised he would not until _she_ did. Oh for goodness sake, this is not a dance! Unhurriedly she lowered herself back down to her chair and waited for Erik to do the same.

Erik noticed as he sat the puffiness around her eyes, red and swollen from crying, the grim set of her mouth and the twisted piece of pink paper in her right hand. What horrors were written within?

"The night of the fire...I arrived _after _you made your escape through the mirror and so missed "the last act". I now have a firsthand account of what transpired...courtesy of Christine as you may have gathered. I wish to have your version - the truth Erik...because until all of this comes out then none of us will _ever_ be free." She spoke clearly, succinctly and without emotion. For the first time since he had come downstairs Meg lifted her eyes and looked at the man sitting opposite her. He had a look of resignation in his eyes yet still the Phantom hung around him like a veil, struggling to keep his pride intact.

Erik's voice cracked as he tried to form words that would not come. How did he even...he did not know himself what had happened or how, never mind how to begin to explain it. Perhaps Meg would be able to make some sense of it? That was supposing he could tell her to begin with.

"I..I'm not sure where to start?"

"How about at the very beginning and why Christine?" Meg softened her voice just enough to allow him the encouragement he seemed to need.

Erik nodded slowly, swallowed and placed his hands palms down on the table in front of him. He could do this; he had to because Meg of all people deserved to know. Maybe someday, somehow she would understand and perhaps not hate him for it.

"She...Christine used to come and sit in the chapel for hours...talking and praying to her father. The stained glass window behind the altar backs onto of the passages I used and I often heard her. She spoke of an angel...an angel of music that her father had promised to send to her after his death...an angel who would keep watch over her, guide her and protect her. One day I stopped to listen; she was crying and I called out her name. She seemed so alone with no one left in the world...like I was. I...I meant to let her know she was _not_ alone...to comfort her. Immediately she sat up and wiped her eyes and whispered back to me. "Angel" she said, "Angel of Music?" What could I say? What would you have had me say Meg? "No, actually I am the monster that plays tricks on the stagehands and demands the outrageous salary"? I had an opportunity to talk to someone, to have someone speak to me like I was _real_, even if I wasn't. Every day she came and called out to the Angel of Music and every day _I_ answered. Eventually I began to teach her to sing, moulding the voice she had been given into something powerful and rich that would reach right to the back of the royal box and high up into the dome. I wrote for that voice, knowing she could give wings to the notes I created. She would be _my_ voice."

Erik clasped his forehead in his fingers, wincing at the memory of all the wonderful plans he had made for that voice, for Christine, for himself. He remembered treasured glimpses of the little mop of dark curls that used to trail behind her blonde friend from his perch high above the stage. He wondered absently at what point they had changed places...with Meg becoming the one who followed, who stayed a few steps behind...in shadow, forgotten.

Meg poured more coffee from the pot, added three heaped spoonfuls of sugar and slid the cup towards him across the table. The floodgates had opened and she would do everything to keep them open. "When did she become _more_ than just your voice?" she encouraged gently.

"The new managers had just arrived and it was amusing to watch them attempting to handle La Diva. When Carlotta stormed off and Christine stepped forward I saw her properly for the first time...all grown up...no longer the little lost girl from the chapel. Then she opened her mouth and sang to the heavens. To me. I was lost." Oh God I cannot breathe! Erik felt that first kick to his stomach all over again and bit down hard on his lip to stop the tears forming. He needed to hold it together in front of Meg or he would never finish this. How had he lost her when he had fought so hard to keep her with him? Of course! HIM!

"Then HE showed up! Of all the people in the world she had to have known in a past life it had to be the new patron. He didn't even recognise her the first time he saw her! No, not until he heard the voice _I_ had created did he even give her a second glance." Erik almost spat the last words out, finding the anger again at the injustice he had felt. How _dare_ he!

"She was wonderful that night and although I did not _see_ her sing I heard every note. The Viscomte was in _my box_ despite my instructions to the contrary; it seems the blatant disregard for my orders coincided with _his_ arrival. She had been given Carlotta's dressing room and...well you obviously know about the mirror since you found your way down to me. She was confused, the Viscomte had approached her and I could feel her being pulled away from me; I knew the time had come to show myself. I opened the mirror and held out my hand to her, she followed as I knew she would. I took her down below and I sang to her...words I had written just for her. Everything I felt for Christine was in those words, in my voice. I tried to show her how it could be, how if she allowed her soul be her guide that she could...she could...then I showed her the doll and she fainted."

"Doll?" Meg was loath to stop him at any point in this fascinating account but she simply _had_ to know. Was this the little monkey she had seen? Surely not.

"Perhaps you did not see it. There was, _is_ a mannequin back there; a life size wax model of her. I made it."

Oh my God Erik! A shiver ran down her spine just thinking about it so she only imagine how her friend had felt, especially if up to that point her poor friend had believed he was a spirit. But he _had_ helped her develop the gift God had given her and written beautiful music for her and she would only ever be able to imagine what that must feel like. Still, making an effigy of someone was decidedly creepy and knowing how talented he was she would wager it looked _just_ like her...like looking in the mirror.

"Go on."

"I placed her on the bed and left her to sleep. When she awoke she came and touched my face; I...I thought she was...and no one had ever...but she grasped my mask and pulled it away. She would NOT leave it be, she just HAD to see! WHY Meg? Why did she have to be so curious?" He looked pleadingly into the face of his only true friend, begging for clarity to that which had hurt more than anything.

"I don't know Erik...perhaps since you had hidden from her for so long she desperately needed to see the truth; maybe she was not ready for it all." Meg could not understand why her friend had been so terrified and horrified by his face – after all it was blatantly _not_ as that creep Buquet had described it over the years but then perhaps Christine had projected those images onto the reality and seen something very different?

"She was horrified and disgusted but somehow it was worse than I feared...I needed her to be different but she wasn't. I brought her back up before anyone could come looking. I never took her there again...until the fire." Erik cradled his face in his hands, hiding the subject of Christine's horror from the only person who had never recoiled from him. Why could she not have seen what Meg saw? How were two who had shared so much been so very different?

Everything had been designed and planned to capture the attention of the one woman who he thought could set him free but she had failed him; his face had failed him...as it always had. That night after he had delivered her back to civilisation he had mourned the loss of his dreams, dreams that had been too farfetched to be real. Erik squeezed his eyes tightly as he remembered his manic thoughts that night. He had come so far, worked so tirelessly; surely he would not let the Viscomte win? Perhaps she could learn to love him, once the fear had subsided. What was fear except that which one does not understand? He thought to make her understand...he had to. Where had it all gone so wrong?

Every cell in her body cried for the broken man opposite her and the young life he had almost destroyed. Meg could see the torment he continued to endure, the fickle nature of humanity and now finally understood where the haunted look Christine had carried had come from. She _had_ been haunted...by memories of a man desperate to be free, desperate for recognition. Her poor innocent friend had believed in an angel, trusting completely the voice that had comforted her and had wrapped all of it up in memories of her father. Meg could not begin to imagine how strange and disorientating it must have felt to realise there was no spirit guide, just a complicated man and the very one who terrorised the company no less. Christine was not strong of mind, she would not have been able to make sense of it all and it was no surprise she turned to the stable, calming presence of the Viscomte, a man she had known as a child.

She could also see how this would not have gone down well with Erik. He would have been enraged, murderously so as it turned out, jealousy tearing him apart. The new patron would have gotten in the way, distracting Christine and depriving Erik of the one thing Meg realised he needed more than anything else - human contact. Oh what an awful tragic mess! There was more, much more to come but Erik needed a break and if she was honest with herself, so did she. Neither of them had really eaten anything so she rose from the table and moved to the kitchen, putting on fresh coffee and slicing some oranges to make juice.

"Erik, go upstairs and freshen up...then come back down and eat with me. You can talk more when you have something in your stomach." She spoke quietly and gently, just like she moved and it was enough to propel her friend into motion. Silently he dragged himself out of the chair and trudged across the room to the stairs as if he were walking knee deep in snow, OG completely forgotten for a change. He was carrying so much on his shoulders...perhaps by the time he closed his eyes tonight he would have shed some of that weight, she thought hopefully.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Finally! This was a mammoth task...let's face it he had ALOT of stuff to get through. I hope it's enough and true to both of them.**

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Chapter 16

Erik did as he was bid, slowly climbing the stairs to his room as if in a trance. How different his two worlds were. Where once he descended into the pit of despair that had been his existence for as long as he cared to remember, now he scaled the steps up into the room which had become a haven in this new place where hope grew. He fervently hoped that he had not snuffed out the tiny flame that burned for him in this life with the revelations he had imparted. Meg could extinguish it in a heartbeat if she so desired and he would not blame her for it.

That feared chest which had been tightly shut now lay open to the elements and he imagined he felt the wind whirling through it, sweeping the memories and nightmares into a funnel of hurt. Like dried autumn leaves they tossed on the breeze as one by one they were caught by the air and whisked clean away. Maybe telling Meg, speaking it aloud was making this happen? Was it too much to hope he would be able to let the worst of it go? He feared telling her the rest above all, about Buquet and the fire. He had destroyed her home and her livelihood – she would have been a prima ballerina, of that he had no doubt – and she had every right to hate him for it. Instead she had helped him and not for the first time he thought about how he could get her to go home, to follow her dream without him holding her back. But then he would be alone again.

Meg busied herself with squeezing oranges and spooning conserve into a little glass pot, actions that were natural and instinctive, requiring little effort and no thought. There was no room for any save thoughts of Erik and his eye-opening confession. It was all so terribly heartrending...losers on both sides and no winners to speak of unless she counted the Viscomte, although he was going to be hit financially where it hurt in the weeks and months to come. Erik would not see that of course, only that two men had fought and only one had walked away with the prize. So far it was a classic love triangle except that she was not so sure that he had truly loved Christine – wanted yes, needed perhaps but loved? They barely knew each other.

He believed it of course but he had nothing to compare it to. But then what did _she_ know of love? Only what she felt from her mother and for her friends but that was vastly different from what was possible with a soul mate. She had no experience with the opposite sex, nothing that would endear her to them anyway if she discounted Erik. He was the only man who she really knew and who really knew her; almost as well as anyone else did including her mother. The rest of the men she had encountered at the Populaire were either young pups looking for a quick grope in the props room or drunken sots who could barely stand. No, she knew not of love and so really who was she to judge?

Pulled from her contemplation by the reappearance of her tragic friend, she pulled out his chair and motioned for him to sit. "Would you like me to do the bandages now or after?" In all that had happened he was still at this late hour in the morning walking around with his entire face bare and that was tantamount to being stark naked in Erik's book...although not quite in hers. But she supposed he felt exposed and that she _could_ understand.

"Now if you don't mind." He had almost forgotten to cover his face with his hand when Federico appeared unexpectedly. He had rather startlingly felt liberated without them this morning. Something that had always been there to protect him (or so he thought) had, by its very absence made him feel a little more human. He knew he did not look any different to before but because Meg did not seem to notice, it had allowed him to forget. He could not remember the last time he forgot about the fact of his face and he longed to wake in the morning and not have to think about it just like she would. For now he would enjoy the calm before the storm he knew was coming and closed his eyes under Meg's gentle hands. She would probably much rather scratch them out but he would not know it from the way she touched him, working as always with deftness and care. If it was the last thing to happen him before his pitiful life came crashing about his ears he knew he would die with the precious knowledge that somewhere inside of her Meg cared a tiny bit and let him feel it each time she did this.

They ate in silence; an eerie calm descending in advance of what both knew would be a difficult conversation. Meg's previous anger had simmered to a throbbing sadness for the pain and confusion he had inflicted on himself and Christine and she knew it was about to get worse. She folded her napkin and laid it on the table, smoothing out a stubborn crease on the cloth as she did so.

"Erik, are you ready to continue?" She knew what was coming...a man had been killed and though no one had actually seen it happen, everyone assumed it was Opera Ghost. He had threatened as much. The new managers and patron had been treading on very dangerous ground when they repeatedly ignored his "advice" and they suffered for it. She supposed in Erik's mind he had given them fair warning; in fact her mother had also tried. She knew just as Meg did that nothing bad ever happened when his instructions were followed. OG was appeased, the box office flourished and everyone was happy. Not anymore.

"I will never be ready but it has to be done." Erik knew that anything he told her from here on had the power to completely alienate Meg but he had to hope that she had the clarity of mind to make sense of it all. He couldn't remember ever speaking at such length to anyone and struggled to form the right words to match the sea of images he called forth in his head.

"While Christine slept I had written to the managers, to the Viscomte, to Carlotta and to your mother with my instructions regarding Il Muto and also a reminder that my salary was overdue. Carlotta was to be the page – she should have been grateful to have any part in it. That woman positively ruined every good note that was ever put in her mouth. Christine was to sing the Countess. The Viscomte was to stay AWAY from her. All of it was ignored. I warned them but they would not listen." They would not listen. If they had just listened...no one would listen.

"I remember...Christine had just arrived back and they were all in the foyer panicking. Carlotta was accusing the patron of writing to her, the managers the same. Maman tried to warn them all when they refused to listen, she knew what they did not." How hard it must have been for her poor mother walking the tightrope between her loyalty to her employers and being Erik's go-between, keeping his secret.

"Such simple requests...a child could have followed them. Carlotta was abysmal as usual so she had to be stopped, it was Christine's turn. I had not developed that voice for it to be kept silent. The patron had again ingratiated himself in my box in direct opposition to my orders. I told them as much. That woman called Christine a toad...uncharacteristically accommodating of her to play into my hands like that I thought, considering her next words. Fimin and André were apoplectic of course with a full house and the production in chaos but they were learning to think on their feet and I have to commend them for their swift recovery, lacking in finesse though it was."

"How did you _do_ it...it _was_ you who made her croak? And you sounded so loud from up there but yet you did not shout." Before things had gotten decidedly morbid it had actually been quite funny, like OG of old up to his usual mischief. Meg was fascinated by how he altered Carlotta's voice and how he himself could sound so ominous and powerful so far from the stage. It was almost as if his voice filled every crack, every pore and she had felt it right inside her ribcage.

"It was merely chemistry. I switched her throat spray with something that temporarily anaesthetised her vocal chords. No lasting harm done but sufficient for my purpose. As for my voice...that is all down to architectural acoustics and quite a brilliant tool. Santa Maria della Salute has a dome that should produce the same effect; I will show you sometime."

"And Buquet...?" There was no escaping the fact that the man sitting across from her was in fact a murderer despite how hard she tried to reconcile it with the Erik she had come to know.

Erik inhaled deeply and clenched his teeth trying to draw some strength from within. For the first time he felt shame for that particular act, sitting in front of this gentle thing who had never hurt anyone. There were no words that would explain it away or make it any more palatable to her. He had killed and there had been little emotion or conscious thought involved. "When I left the dome I was crossing the catwalk above the stage. Buquet followed me, thinking to bag himself the monster he was so fond of publicising. I could not let that happen. He was used to being up there and quick enough on the ropes but he was a drunk and I was quicker. He had been a thorn in my side and a danger to the rest of the company for quite some time; in fact I had written to Levevre in the past about getting the problem dealt with but it was allowed to continue. The opportunity to rectify it presented itself and when it came down to it I could either kill him or be captured. I could not let that happen. I strangled him." His face settled into a grim frown, bowing his head as he waited for the backlash. He could not tell it any way other than how it happened. Meg would expect nothing less than the cold hard truth.

"What gave you the RIGHT Erik? Oh I know that man was a menace, God alone knows he was a letch of the _worst_ kind but you had NO right to take his life!" Meg was angry now and she suspected it would only get worse. What of Piangi? Not to mention Christine's account of his forcing her to marry him? None of it made any sense. She had to remember the man she now considered a friend was capable of anything. It was not the behaviour of a man in any sort of control...and she supposed that was the key. He was out of control, a brilliant mind lost to an obsession to possess the mind, body and soul of her naive young friend.

Erik had never thought about whether he _should_ have done it, about whether he had the _right_ to do it. In his entire life no one had ever questioned his motives. Until now. "No. No...You are quite correct. I suppose I did not have the right; it was not a factor in the decision. One of us had to go and I was not about to let it be me."

"I had left a rose for Christine in her dressing room, a red rose with a black silk ribbon. She took it with her when she left with the patron after...after Bouquet. I followed them to the roof. Nothing could have prepared me..."

Meg saw Erik's previously cold and clinical demeanour evaporate before her to reveal an anguish and sorrow that in the time she had known him had never seemed so acute. Something horribly painful had transpired up on that roof, something that had hurt him deeply. Her head was spinning with warring versions of the man before her and the emotions he pulled from her; anger at his assumption of entitlement to be judge, jury and executioner and grief for the heart and soul of a man who tortured himself mercilessly, needlessly. Meg reached across the table and laid her hand across his knuckles which were white with tension. "Go on...nothing could have prepared you...?"

"I was hidden behind the huge angel statue – appropriate don't you think? I heard everything. She said my face was...that it was hardly a face at all. She told him she loved him, he told her he loved her too. They kissed as lovers do. He proposed to her and she...she accepted." Erik's face fell into his hands, no longer able to contain the pain that he had locked inside for so long. Huge salty tears completely at odds with the proud, powerful man he had been chased down his left cheek and soaked into the fabric covering his right. "Meg she was mine, MINE! She told him about me...about my face. They agreed she would sing the lead and then they would leave together. She betrayed me. She understood nothing...NOTHING. I had to make her understand, make them ALL understand."

Oh Erik! How awful, how twisted it all was. What must it have felt like to be the unseen third corner of the triangle...the one left out in the cold? She could not imagine. Meg had never seen such hurt in her short life but already her broken friend had endured enough for ten lifetimes. Why did he continue to pursue it, pursue Christine when he could see she loved another? Perhaps he couldn't see...just as her young friend never saw who her angel really was. It was self mutilation.

"We did not see or hear from you again until the New Year's Eve Masquerade. Where were you?"

"Making plans. I was writing Don Juan and making plans. Every minute of every hour of every day was spent putting everything within me onto paper, into notes and lyrics; all of it for her. It was all I had to give her and it was everything I am...was. I came to the masquerade with one purpose and one alone – to deliver the manuscript and my instructions. Christine was...she looked so beautiful but something was wrong...she wore a ring around her neck. HIS ring! She belonged to me!" Erik almost spat the words just as he had that night, furious with her for waving her engagement in his face.

"You know the rest - the Viscomte followed me with his sword although I still cannot fathom what he thought to do with it. Your mother saved his life that night...she is good at that. Shortly after Christine slipped out one night to visit her father's grave; I drove her. She never knew it was me. She was lost, confused and missing her father. I sang to her as I had so many times before...as her Angel of Music. She believed it was the spirit of her father and I...I did not...I let her believe it."

"How _could_ you? Erik she _knew_ from when you took her down below that there _was _no angel, she was so confused. How could you continue to manipulate her mind that way? She is not strong like others, she has always believed whatever she is told no matter how farfetched. She was blind and you _used_ her. Why? WHY?" He had definitely crossed the line. She could understand how it had all begun and how it had spiralled beyond his control but this? This was ridiculous and unbelievably disturbing! He was grasping at wisps of nothing...she loved Raoul and he _knew_ that. He had heard it with his own ears, seen the evidence. Was he so blind to everything but his own desires, everyone's but his own needs that he did not see?

"She was MINE! She was mine long before he showed up perfectly coiffed with his title, his crest and his regular aristocratic features. MINE! I just needed her to see it. I needed to make her understand. Of course he arrived like a knight on his big white horse and spoiled everything. He told her the voice she heard was not her father...the time had come to end it. I jumped down from my position high up on her father's mausoleum and drew my sword."

Megs hand flew to her mouth in horror. She had no idea it had come to this...that they had crossed swords out in the graveyard. Christine had never spoken of it, Raoul becoming her confidante or swearing her to secrecy.

"You fought him? What happened? Did anyone get hurt?"

"I sliced his shoulder, drawing some of that fine blue blood. It turns out he bleeds the same colour as all the rest of us." His tears of before had given way to a positively evil smirk and icy cold eyes as he remembered the elation at feeling the resistance and subsequent tearing of warm enemy flesh at the point of his sword.

"What about you...did he...were you hurt?" For some reason she imagined him invincible even thought she knew he was not. He was just a man but she couldn't bear to think of the two men killing each other over a woman who loved only one. She could understand it if she could not decide but then Erik believed he still had a chance. Men were so ridiculous with their posturing and one-upmanship. It invariably ended in tears and this was proving to be no exception.

"No, he did not land a blow although...and it galls me to say it...he managed to knock my sword away and I landed awkwardly. He was ready to drop his blade through my heart but Christine stopped him. She could have let me die; let her beloved waste my life but she spared it. I had to believe it was because she cared." He hated the fact that his nemesis had bested him in any way but it was a fact. He could have killed him.

"The premier of Don Juan was the next time I saw her. At some point between there must have been a plan to involve the police, a grand scheme to catch the beast. My orders were followed to the letter...Christine came on as Aminta. I should have known something was not right but I did not care. This was the end. I knew it would end that night one way or another. I had planned everything so carefully. The chandelier was rigged to drop if I needed a distraction...it was never meant to bring down the Populaire. It was supposed to come down on the stage; I had calculated every possible permutation but it fell short. I saw that the day I followed you back up before we left Paris. I waited backstage until Piangi was due to go on and I overpowered him. He dropped to the floor but I did not tighten the rope enough to kill him. I needed him to be unconscious...I had no reason to kill him...you must believe that Meg. I walked on in his place and sang the words I had written to the woman they were meant for."

"I heard you...I was changing for the next act but I heard you. I knew it could not have been Piangi so I came to the stage as soon as I was ready. Maman was there and so were the police. You had made your way up the steps by then so I never saw you but Erik... your voice was, is beautiful." Not long after that everything had gone crazy. Erik had sung words that were not in the score...heartbreaking words begging Christine to stay with him, pledging his love to her and then it happened; the one thing that made her question every drop of sympathy she felt for her childhood friend.

"You know what happened next then." Erik bowed his head once more, fingers pressed into his eyes as if to pulverise the horrific scenes within.

"I walked up those steps with more hope than I had ever dared to dream for. Christine had given herself to me with her words and every encouraging glance she imparted on that stage. I could barely believe that she was finally mine; that she had decided. I had nothing left to lose so I told her. I told her I loved her with the very words her precious Viscomte had used so she _could_ not misunderstand. My reason for living came down to that moment. I never realised until then what an excellent actress she really is; the sultry looks, the come hither eyes, the enticing smiles...all LIES. She had always been such a timid, quiet little thing that I was momentarily stunned by the viciousness of her actions. She fed me to the lions...Delilah with her scissors and Pandora with her infernal curiosity. Oh how they screamed when she lifted the lid on _that_ box! There was NO WAY she was escaping now. She would be mine at any price! I cut the rope holding the chandelier and kicked the lever for the trapdoor under the stage. We dropped several floors below and I dragged her down to the lake."

Erik's heart was racing to the point of a coronary and his hands were shaking with remembered anger, pain and disbelief. He felt small hands clasp his; soft, warm hands that trembled but were steadier than his own. Meg. He lifted his head to meet her eyes which he noted were glossy with tears, many having already spilt down her cheeks.

"Why did you not just leave her Erik? She had just betrayed you in the most horrific way imaginable...I cannot even begin to...oh it's too awful. Why would you want her still, after what she had done? You could have just disappeared and left it be." Meg could not understand why or how he could continue to torture himself the way he had. If she had been in his shoes she could not comprehend wanting to breathe the same air as the person who had done that. What the hell was Christine doing? They were not the actions of the sweet girl she befriended as a child. Oh she knew she was confused – Erik had made sure of that – but it still did not excuse what she had done to him. She had exposed and betrayed him in what she knew would be the most hurtful and damaging way and Meg could not condone it no matter what Erik had done.

"She had to pay for what she did. She _would_ pay and so would her fop of a fiancé. I had seconds to contemplate and my only thoughts were that she belonged to me. I told her to put on the dress I had made for her; so many hours put into every little detail and she..." Erik was stopped in his tracks by Meg holding her hand up in front of him.

"Wait, stop. What dress?" He could sew? Was there no end to his abilities?

"The wedding dress...I kept it on the mannequin and..."

"Wait, was it by any chance on that thing when you brought her down before; when she fainted?"

"Well yes of course it was. I made it months ago, why?"

"Erik can you hear yourself? You brought a 16 year old girl (who up to that point believed you to be a spirit sent to protect her by her dead father, by the way) down to your underground home, mesmerised her with doubtless beautiful words and then showed her a mirror image of herself wearing a wedding dress. Of course she fainted; most people would have. She was probably terrified!"

"Would _you_ have fainted?"

"No I most certainly would _not_ have; I would have told you to stop being so damned creepy. But then I am NOT Christine as you are so fond of pointing out and so I would not have been down there in the first place. That's not even the point. The point is you scared the sense out of her. What happened when she put on the dress?" She would never have been in that position because he had never nor would ever have noticed her.

"She told me that she pitied me...that it was my distorted soul and not my face which horrified her then. _My_ distorted soul? She, who ripped my heart out in front of a packed theatre and threw it to the salivating masses! I was sick of listening to her, sick of seeing the pity in her face. I told her she would have an eternity to look at my face, contemplating her dark fate. Then her heroic young suitor showed up, having miraculously escaped my water trap. It was sickening to hear his pathetic pleas for mercy and compassion when none were ever shown to me. It turned my stomach to hear the declarations of love that passed between them; it was like the roof all over again. I lifted the portcullis and in he came oblivious to the lasso heading for his scrawny privileged neck. Christine had a choice to make. Choose me and I would let him live. Choose him and he would die. Simple."

Simple. Christine had been telling the truth in her letter. He _had_ forced her to choose between staying with him or death for her love. He had turned into a maniac! He had completely lost all sense of reality and what was right and she could not figure out when that had happened. She was sure he had not always been that unstable...all his previous years as OG he had played mischievous pranks, not the actions of a madman but rather the tricks of a bored, attention hungry child. He was blatantly a genius with enormous talent for anything it seemed he tried his hand at including dressmaking of all things! She could barely manage to tack the ribbons on her toe shoes. When had his mind cracked? What was the turning point? Only he knew.

"Go on." Meg begged silently for an end to it...she couldn't take much more.

"She made the only choice she could. She came to me across the lake with that beautiful dress swirling around her, put the ring on her finger and then she..." Erik closed his eyes and swallowed remembering his first kiss. A first touch of lips that should have been filled with sweetness and pleasure not tainted with pity and sacrifice.

"Then she...oh God she kissed me. Twice. It was too much. She did not love me and I knew it then; her acting skills failed her when it really counted. I couldn't let her stay, could not bear to see and feel that kind of pity again. It was worse than losing her. I let them go, told them to take the boat and forget it all, forget me. I opened the portcullis and went back up the steps to the bed. I was sitting staring at the music box when she came back. She gave me the ring...the ring the Viscomte had given her and then I watched them leave, together. I smashed the mirror that covered the hidden passage and well...you know the rest."

Meg nodded slowly and released the breath she had been holding as Erik came to the end of his story. It was, she conceded, quite unbelievable but she _must_ believe it for it had all happened and she did not doubt his account for a second; it was too terrifying to make up. He had visibly shrunk; the effort of purging his sins too much for even OG to keep up the facade. The tall, powerful man that had first appeared to her in her mother's bedroom was now a broken, beaten, defeated and heartsick figure of hopelessness. He had lost everything. Erik had wagered everything and lost. He believed he had nothing left.

Meg stood slowly from her chair and moved to stand beside the complex man she had helped and whose darker side she now knew. His shoulders shook from the sobs he failed to hide and his head was hidden, cradled in his hands. He had let it all out, the poison that had been sucking the life out of him and now he could begin to heal.

"Erik..." She put a hand on his back just between his shoulder blades and felt him tense, the powerful muscles flexing beneath her palm.

He lifted his head and turned to look up into the tear stained face of his confessor and where he expected revulsion and loathing saw only acceptance and compassion. She took his left hand from his face and pulled him towards her, clutching his head to her so he could hear her heart beating. Erik gave himself up to the feeling of being warm and safe and decided once and for all to give up trying to figure this woman out. She would forever surprise him. He turned fully in his chair and wrapped both his arms around her tiny waist, holding on as if his life depended on it and let the tears come. He would ruin her dress but he would buy her a new one.

"Why Meg?" He didn't deserve any of this.

"It's over now Erik, you are not alone anymore. We will fix this somehow...we will find a way." Meg continued to rub small circles on his back, holding the ruined side of his face in her hand and prayed to whoever listened that they could.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N Sorry about the huge delay...I've been off seeing POTO live - Awesome. Anyway this will hopefully make up for the wait. Enjoy! - oh and a huge thanks to everyone who's continuing to review and some newcomers too!**

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Chapter 17

In the days that had followed Erik's revelations Meg struggled with the weight of his burden and that of Christine. He had spoken and she had listened, only speaking when she couldn't keep silent, loathe though she was to interrupt him. Aspects of the beginning of his story made painful sense; his need to reach out to someone and feel alive, feel real. All of this she could understand and indeed empathise with and she could even stretch to applauding his efforts to comfort her grieving friend; Christine must have called out to that orphaned, abandoned feeling inside of him. Meg could not imagine how it must have been for him alone all that time and now she was disturbed by the fact that it was not something she had considered in all the years she had caught glimpses of him. She had just never contemplated there was a life behind it, a living breathing person with dreams, desires, needs. Subconsciously she knew he was real but never thought beyond that; OG was just like a special effect, a flash of light, poof he was gone again, the scenes changed and the next act began. Perhaps if she _had_ stopped to think her inquisitive nature would have sent her searching; she could have found him, helped him sooner and maybe prevented some of this. But the other aspects – the dangerous obsession that had pulled him from an adoring tutor and benevolent watchful eye to a desperate, obsessed man without thought or reason – left her bewildered and unsure as to how to help him. Perhaps living a solitary existence, his actions unchecked by elders or peers he did not know where or how to draw the line. Of one thing she was certain; Erik could never allow himself to go down that road again, for his sanity and hers.

Meg had let him be for the first few days after his confession wanting to leave the dust to settle before she discussed it any further and he had spent much of it alone in his room no doubt thinking dark thoughts while he played melancholy tunes that ripped at her soul. She thought it cruel to bombard him with questions while it was all so raw in his mind but eventually his sullen expression had softened, the eerie tunes replaced by calmer compositions that hinted at hopefulness. Now she had letters to answer and she would not hide in her room to do it; they both had lives to get on with. April sunshine bathed Venice, the best seat in the house was inside the balcony doors and it was her favourite place to sit and daydream. Perhaps it would inspire her for the task ahead for she surely knew not what she would write to her friend. How did she even begin? Fabrications were becoming second nature to her now though she loathed the idea of having to lie to Christine. Yet she must to protect their tenuous existence in Italy for to slip up at this point would spell disaster for Erik and then she may as well have left him to his fate.

Erik had heard the soft steps above him that meant his constant was moving about her room. Meg sounded like she was hovering with indecision over whether to come out or not and he could hardly blame her. For days and nights he had barely acknowledged her apart from that sacred part of the day when she laid her hands on him; no matter what happened he allowed nothing to change that. It...She was the anchor that prevented him being swamped by feelings of unworthiness long enough to face each day. Forming words and sentences out of the images that had haunted and taunted him for so long initially stung like a freshly salted wound all over again but then...he purged the poison the only way he knew how. With a level of restraint he never knew he possessed (and he secretly suspected Meg had more to do with that than he realised) he played his hurt away; his beautiful, faithful violin helping him commit the desperate and angry notes to the air. The sad and lonely followed. His nightmares had continued but never again like when Meg had found him and he was finally unafraid to close his eyes, knowing that when they came for him he would face them once and for all. Meg had been so utterly patient and calm in the face of his anguish and he knew he owed it to her to find that lost part of him that was still good, the part that Meg could see.

He was sitting almost contentedly on the couch in the little sitting room absent-mindedly drawing perfect circles on a sketch pad with a piece of charcoal, playing Schumann's Träumerei in his mind when his brain fogged completely. That scent of fat garden roses that signified Meg had wafted across the room from the general direction of the stairs alerting him well before he saw her that she was imminent. She had become so light on her feet that he was finding it increasingly difficult to detect her steps and he rather suspected she was doing it deliberately. Was she trying to out-stealth him? Not possible, although it rather fit with her decidedly feline characteristics. He wondered if she would have been as agile and surefooted high up on the catwalks of the Populaire. He allowed a measured smirk gradually pull his mouth into a satisfied smile at her concerted efforts to outwit his superior hearing. Ah but I can still smell you, ma petite!

With strengthened resolve Meg gathered her writing things from her desk and made her way deftly downstairs where she met with the sight of an unsettlingly comfortable-looking Erik positively lounging in a sea of cushions on the settee. She would never have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes! He looked like a Rajah on his divan and was only missing a few scantily clad eunuchs fanning him with ostrich feathers and an adoring harem at his feet. Most astonishing of all was what she could only describe as an indulgent smile playing across his disturbingly gorgeous mouth. The man was totally clueless as to the effect his rare and exceptional smiles had and this was one she hadn't seen before; either that or he was determined to put her in an early grave. Oh hell and damn him anyway! How could she be expected to form coherent thoughts when Erik had just turned her inside out with one of his enigmatic looks and beckoned a rush of warm blood to her cheeks? It was happening far too much for comfort of late and was devastating her normally composed demeanour; she was no match for this. How would she write sensible, calming words for her friend when she felt far from both herself and her entire body (never mind her hands) was tremulous under that dangerous gaze? That smile had reformed into a smirk and she was convinced he was laughing at her expense. How very dare he!

"What. WHAT?" She couldn't help but stamp her foot as she unceremoniously dumped her paper, inkpot and pen on the small table. He always managed to flip her from a quivering mess to incensed within seconds and it was beginning to worry her.

Erik momentarily ignored her, astonished as he was into silence by the fact of the very obvious blush she had been wearing just before she had stamped her elegantly clad foot. There was no mistaking it; he had seen one just like it when that young Italian pretender had smiled at her. Had _he_ done that to her? Not possible...and yet she had most definitely been scarlet to her roots. Now she was incensed at him and he was assaulted with a curious feeling of mischief, the need to draw out this deliciousness clawing at his brain. There were those fiery eyes again – oh how he had missed them! Did she have any idea how ridiculous and at the same time how utterly adorable her little stamping fits were? He was reminded of Bella; yes he thought, his vague memories telling him that Meg was quite like her as a small child. Always asking questions and thoroughly put out when not taken seriously. He couldn't help but keep the smile on his face and the spark of enthusiasm that danced wickedly in his eyes. She was practically begging for him to tease her!

"I heard you coming down the stairs." He watched the little indignant shoulders rising above her locked elbows and tightly clenched fists. Her eyes were at boiling point like a pot of coffee steaming on the hob now, the pupils widening as she stood in shadow sideways to the sunlight pouring in the balcony doors.

"Liar! You _couldn't_ have; I was so caref..." Meg clamped her hand to her mouth to silence her betraying mouth but it was too late. His left eye sparkled with victory. Blast, she hadn't meant to hand that to him on a plate and she just knew he would revel in it for days. It was so utterly infuriating especially as she had even remembered to keep to the side of that one pesky step that creaked in the middle.

"Hah I _knew_ it! Planning on being Phantomess of the Pasticceria are we Meg? I heard your little feet the moment you walked out your bedroom door." Alright he was bluffing but she didn't need to know that and anyway if he hadn't been so completely wrapped up in the music in his head he would have so it was a moot point. He would still smell her a mile away and that was a gem he was not giving up just yet. Enough; there was no point pushing her completely over the edge especially when that would just make her grumpy with him.

"Writing to your mother?" he offered with as much innocence as he could inject into his voice, still incredulous as to his ability to bring a flush to her cheeks.

"Yes," She hesitated for a moment over her next words (and due in no small part to the fact that she was still smarting from being discovered in her little endeavours to mimic his silent movements), decided that the time had passed for dancing around this particular subject, "and Christine." She chanced a sly peek under lowered eyelashes, feeling instantly repentant. He was no longer smiling.

"Oh." His earlier jubilant mood evaporated only to be replaced by the heaviness in his heart and tightness in his chest that he had just spent the better part of the past week exorcising. He had not anticipated her words, although he supposed he should have. She was after all Christine's best friend and while he had his own reasons for feeling as he did, Meg would want to help her just as she had helped him. He knew who was more deserving and it wasn't the man who had just raised her hackles needlessly and for his own perverse pleasure. If it were not for him then Meg would not have to write words of comfort to her friend.

"Does it bother you? I mean I cannot just ignore her but..." This was so hard. She felt completely ripped in two but really Erik was going to have to deal with it eventually or he would be forever stuck in his Christine filled limbo, drowning in hatred and feelings of worthlessness.

Erik did not hate Christine exactly. Closer to the truth would be that he was bitterly disappointed in her; she was not what he had thought her to be and he _did_ hate what she had done to him and how she made him feel about himself. That night of his opera when he had felt closer to his dream than ever before stood out above all others as the most soul destroying of his entire life. Not even (and he hated thinking of those times before Antoinette found him) when he had been beaten and whipped within an inch of his life had he felt the same sense of gut wrenching betrayal and hurt. But if his weeks in Meg's company had taught him anything it was how to begin to feel shame for what he himself had done; shame and regret for things he could not change and the plain and simple fact that others had suffered for his actions.

"But nothing; you are her friend. If she needs to hear from you then you should write to her." Meg had fled Paris with him, helped him, listened to him and therefore _he_ had deprived Christine of her only friend when she no doubt needed her most and he realised he had absolutely no right to interfere with that. Still, the fact of it stung in ways he could not comprehend.

"Alright then. I mean I was always going to reply to her but I feel better knowing you know. I hate secrets, although we are sort of living one and I'm not sure how to get around it with Christine. She's obsessed with knowing where I am and who I am with and no doubt has been similarly interrogating Maman. It is not an issue with Maman...I just changed your name in case my letter fell into the wrong hands but..." she was prevented from finishing her sentence when Erik interrupted.

"You changed my name?" Who in the devil was he now?

Oh blast! She would have to tell him everything now and he would not be amused. Also she figured it would be a good time to confess bringing Rosa into her confidence somewhat. She really hated lying and now it was going to bite her. The only way to do this was to start, keep talking so he couldn't get a word in the then dive for cover while he predictably summoned OG to deal with her.

"Well you're supposed to be an old friend of Maman's as you will no doubt remember we agreed before we left Paris. Since it would be wholly unacceptable to be sent away to stay with a male friend, you have to be female and" So much for not letting him get a word in.

"Do I now and do I perchance have a name, my ingenious little friend?" This was getting better by the minute and his collar was beginning to irritate his neck.

"Eleanore" Meg whispered barely moving her lips and cringed inwardly, unable to make eye contact.

"I beg your pardon, I thought you said Eleanore!"

"I did. Also before you get all indignant you should know that I had to tell Rosa when we were shopping that you were not my employer. She never believed it from the start so it was pointless to carry on the pretence and you told Bella yourself about your face. I tried to keep to the truth as much as possible so I told her a slightly altered version of the same story." Please don't let him ask any more questions. She crossed her fingers behind her back and stole a peek at him through squinted eyes and shrank down a little in her chair.

Erik's head was spinning as it did frequently whenever Meg opened her mouth. He was now a woman. He supposed it made sense to be extra careful and he had to give her credit for the foresight. But still, a woman!

"Wait a minute, how altered? I assume I'm not a woman anymore or perhaps I am!" Erik snorted at the utter nonsense of it.

"No silly. You're still you just without the Phantom and the fact that you're running from the French police. You knew Maman from when you were children and she wanted to take me on a tour of Europe but couldn't because of work so you took me instead since you had to get out of Paris anyway."

"Hmm. Tell me Meg, why _did_ I have to get out of Paris?" This would be good. He would give her extra marks if this was plausible.

No. No. No. You weren't supposed to ask that. Dammit. "Broken engagement. She left you for a younger man." She saw his eye widen, his eyebrow shooting up and the muscles of his jaw working overtime pulling the mantle of the Phantom all around him like a comfort blanket. "Before you completely lose it just think for a minute. It's the closest I could get to the truth that was plausible without sending you to the gallows so don't even think about complaining. I did it for you, for us. Believe me if I could have thought of a more heroic role to put you in on the spur of the moment I would have but the more truthful the less chance we have of being caught out. I'm sorry you had to be a woman for the purposes of some of this charade but again it had to fit our cover story and as it happens it's about as far from the truth as it's possible to be; no one could ever accuse you of being feminine."

Broken engagement indeed. He wanted to hurt someone but since Meg was the only one with a pulse in the room he would have to grind his teeth instead and remember to breathe. "Where does Christine think you are?"

"Maman told her the same story we agreed before we left – I'm staying with an old friend of hers. The less detail she has the better. Look I am sorry if that was a bit close to the bone about the engagement but I had to think fast and the more farfetched a story gets the more chance there is of slipping up." That would have hurt him and she was sorry for it. But he was the one with the imagination so why did she have to come up with all the ridiculous stories; it was exhausting and he was bound to find fault with every little detail.

Erik's initial ire was tempered by the fascinating possibility that she had just given him a compliment (apart from the old friend part...far too much mention of the word old for his liking – he was only thirty four), admittedly it was probably not meant as such but Meg had definitely alluded to him being the exact opposite of feminine. That combined with the fact that he _knew_ she enjoyed him playing to her served to warm him somewhere deep inside in the place where he held all his thoughts about himself. He had never felt the praise or compliments of another – Christine had taken his willingly but he realise bitterly that she had never returned them - so he held on to these like they were pure gold. He could be "Eleanore" if that was what was required and they would be partners in this game they were playing.

"Write your letters Meg while I go and practice swooning upstairs or whatever it is that you females do."

Meg watched as he disappeared up the stairs taking them two at a time and not for the first time noticed irritatingly how very long his legs were. She was really going to have to get a handle on her unsuitable private musings about Erik and the disturbing fact of him. The man was in pieces and grieving for goodness sake! Shaking the thoughts clean out of her mind she opened Christine's letter to her and reread it so as to best plan her reply.

_Dearest Christine_

_You cannot imagine my joy at receiving your letter and I am so sorry I have not written sooner. I cannot imagine how difficult the past few weeks must have been for you. I read your account of what happened on the night of the fire with tears in my eyes. How I wish I could have prevented it, how I wish I could be there to put my arms around you. I am only comforted by the knowledge that you are in the safe and capable arms of your beloved – and there is no one better than he to care for you. I feel our separation keenly and please believe me when I say that were it possible for me to be in two places at once, I would be._

And now for the lies.

_Maman may have told you a little about her childhood friend - Eleanore? Well, being somewhat of a recluse (having never married) she has been desperately lonely and in urgent need of a companion to travel with for some time. Maman's commitments to the Populaire meant she had been unable to visit with her but I think when the fire happened she thought it the perfect opportunity to finally help her friend and shield me from the aftermath. I confess that sometimes it feels as though I never really left you are all so constantly in my thoughts._

_Maman's friend keeps me ever on my toes what with me needing eyes in the back of my head and providing constant reassurance however I feel that my presence is making a difference. Fear not that I am having a dull time of it as we have been out sightseeing several times and have made friends with our neighbour; in fact we are to be guests at their daughter's wedding in June. You would not believe it but the bride-to-be is the living image of you – so I quite feel like you are near even though the miles separate us!_

_How relieved you must be to finally announce your betrothal – I know it was a strain to keep it secret for so long when all you wished to do was shout it from the rooftops._

From what Erik said she actually did, Meg thought sadly.

_I sincerely hope that recent events have not dampened your excitement and it is actually a godsend that you have such a happy event to look forward to. If our neighbours are anything to go by you will soon be drowning in a sea of sugared almonds and lace!_

_You mentioned in your letter that you were not sleeping, that you worried about your angel? Christine I know that deep down, despite all that happened you did care for him but you have to let him go just as he let you go. Wherever he is I am sure he would only want you to be happy even though it could not be with him. I know from your letter that his actions were reprehensible but you must not forget that you too acted so far outside yourself as to be unrecognisable as the girl I consider a sister. You must have known that by exposing him in front of so many in such a cruel way that it would inflict the greatest amount of pain and harm imaginable? Perhaps too much was expected of you that night; too much pressure to play a part you obviously were not comfortable with. Only you can ever know why and I pray you can make peace with it._

_You must not allow all that happened to eat away at you to the point of sleeplessness and I must be honest, the thought of you taking such strong medication worries me Christine. Remember when you came to us first and you could not sleep for grief - Maman used to give you warm milk with sugar and I let you sleep with my white rabbit? It is still on my bed and I will ask Maman to get it for you, that way I will still be near you and perhaps it may help you again. You must be strong now for the weeks of preparations ahead and so you can be the wife Raoul deserves. Write me with every little detail as I long for news of home._

_Your fondest friend..._

Erik had come back downstairs with the box of chalks Meg had thought to purchase while she had been shopping with Rosa - he needed more colour in his life apparently. She was staring at the rumpled pink sheet in her hands; the one he knew contained the words Christine had written.

"What do you know of laudanum?" Meg really was afraid for her friend, enough to tell Erik because somehow she knew he would know what to do. He knew so much about everything.

"WHAT? Meg are you ill? Laudanum!" He looked back at the letter in her hand again and slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers. Christine; it had to be.

"No I'm not but...oh look they're giving it to Christine to help her sleep and I'm frightened for her so tell me what you know of it."

"Laudanum! But that's for pain, extreme pain and is highly addictive. I have read extensively on medicine and it causes all sorts of side effects most notably euphoria and dysphoria – a depressive state. It's morphine based and really not suitable for sleep deprivation although it can induce drowsiness. What fool has prescribed that?" In the midst of everything, amongst all the pain Christine had caused him she was still the sorrowing girl he taught to sing, who gave his music a voice. He hated thinking of her falling apart and now it seemed with chemical assistance. Was the Vicomte totally incapable of looking after his bride?

"The de Chagny family physician apparently. I had no idea it was so dangerous. I don't know why he felt it necessary to give her _that_ of all things but I know just as you do that it's all wrong and I'm frightened what it will do to her. She doesn't have the ability to cope with something like that."

"Do you think she would listen to you if you said something?" Erik could see what this was doing to the woman sitting opposite. Her face was a mask of fear and concern.

"I did try but I did not want to scare her. Oh it's almost laughable! I tried to remind her of how Maman looked after her when she was small and afraid, when she would give her warm milk with sugar. I promised I'd let her borrow my white rabbit...I let her sleep with it when she was upset over her father. It was the closest thing I had to a comfort blanket but some nights she needed it more than I did. How silly! I'm sorry I had to tell you but I thought you should know. I did not think you would want me to hide something like that from you and I hate-" She was prevented from finishing when Erik put his hand up and nodded.

"Yes I know; you hate secrets. It's all right Meg, really. Perhaps what you have written may be more effective than being blatant; for now that is as much as you can do." He would not allow her to feel bad for telling him. This was happening as a consequence of his actions and at least now he knew he could help, even if it was only to take some of the worry from Meg.

Meg finished writing to her mother making her promise to find her childhood toy for Christine and filling her in on their news – most notably that she had spoken to Erik about the "whole big mess" not that she was going to share any details with her but at least it would show her he was making some sort of progress. She was careful to include any additional details of their cover story that she had passed on to Christine. It would not do for her mother to be caught out and even if her friend was not thinking with perfect clarity, her fiancé was more astute than most. Erik had been sombre and quiet all afternoon since their discussion, back on his throne with his chalks and sketchpad. No doubt it would be all browns and greys if his humour had been anything to go by. What a change from when she first came down the stairs. It was high time they got out into the sunshine rather than merely admiring it from inside.

"Erik, I've finished with these so I need to go out and frank them. Are you coming?" She waved the envelope containing both of her letters in his general direction, waiting as he pushed himself up and went to put his materials away in his room. Within minutes he was back down again and was just pulling on his coat when he stopped and smiled to himself as if recalling a long forgotten joke.

"Meg...your white rabbit...did it by any chance have a black vest and velvet paws?"

She frowned remembering the soft toy that had been on her pillow as she slept (except when she had allowed her friend to borrow it) for as long as she could remember. He had long ears (one of which was floppy), tiny little black shiny buttons for eyes and a beautiful black satin waistcoat. Monsieur Lapin! He never really got a proper name.

"Yes he _did_ and I used to stroke the top of my nose and cheek with his little paws when I couldn't sleep or when I was cross. Maman said only babies sucked their thumbs. Why, how did you know that?"

"Meg you forget no one breathed in the Populaire that I did not know about. He was never out of your hand, dangling from his floppy ears as you followed your mother around as a child."

"Only his right ear was flo-" Meg trailed off as the significance of her beloved toy's little oddity dawned on her with heartbreaking clarity. Its right ear had been deliberately folded over and sewn in place. Her hand flew to her mouth and blinked back stupid childish tears for a young man (who could not have been more than twenty) that had been so lonely yet had made something so precious with his own hands for a child who would never know it. She was sure now that it had been him and suddenly, selfishly she did not want Christine to have it. She glanced up at him; the question in her gaze that she would not ask aloud.

Erik eyes gave no answer as he held the door and stood aside for her as she swept out, smiling enigmatically to himself. All her life it seemed she had cherished the little rabbit he had all but forgotten he had made for Antoinette's daughter when she could not have been much more than a toddler. How he would treasure that!


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N **Thank you as always for the ongoing reviews. Things get a bit awkward here and I've tried to keep both as "in character" as possible but inevitably when taken out of one's comfort zone...well! SMIRK of supreme EVILNESS. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 18

It was quite a long way, Meg conceded; their previous trip to the Rialto having been shortened and eased immeasurably by the services of Federico and his gondola. Though she was not enamoured with the length of the walk she _was_ in favour of Erik's present good humour despite the stubborn fluttering in her stomach that refused to abate. That he had made her favourite childhood toy had floored her and endeared him to her in equal measure. How she wished her mother had told her. He was having the most peculiar affect on her lately and if she did not know better she would think he was doing it on purpose but of course the man had enough to be getting on with just getting through each day. It was not _his_ problem and she would deal with it by thinking of absolutely anything else but the broad shoulders just ahead that seemed almost to block out the sun.

On the way back from the post office they passed through the area of Dorsoduro where all the artisan shops were, not far from the pasticceria. It was siesta so most were closed until early evening but their wares could still be seen displayed in the windows. The famous Murano glass and ceramics seemed to be the most prevalent amongst the crafts on offer although there were also the famous mascherari – traditional Venetian mask makers – and it was outside one of these that Meg was forced to stop, almost banging her nose against the expanse of Erik's back in front of her. Her eyes widened at the colourful display of everything from the full faced volto, pretty little columbina, the frankly creepy plague doctor and the classic bauta. She noticed Erik's own left eye darting from one corner of the window to the next, feasting on the colour and variance and she could almost hear his brain working to commit everything to memory.

"What are they made of?" She pressed her face to the glass and tried to choose one that she thought would suit her, after all Elena's wedding was not so far away and there was to be a masquerade afterwards. Her mask on New Year's Eve had been a small delicate thing but these were quite something. Some were so elaborate you would never detect the wearer beneath!

Erik tore his gaze from the delights behind the glass to the little inquisitor on his left shoulder.

" Papier mache mostly, although some are ceramic like the volto – the full faced ones – and then some are leather like mine was. Papier mache is quicker and cheaper I suppose but not very practical if you intend to wear it all the time. Which one do you like?" He was intrigued as to her choice. She had not the need to hide any part of her face although the point of a masquerade was to remain anonymous he conceded and so she could be extremely bold if she wished. For him it was a necessity although he had enjoyed making the Red Death mask. It gave him a different perspective on his face as it had been symmetrical, giving the impression that what lay beneath was also.

"I'm not sure. I like the look of the volto but how does one speak? The ones with plumes are quite spectacular but should it not reflect your personality or something like that?"

Something like that! He thought of the expression his own mask had worn and realised it didn't quite fit anymore. "Yes I it should; remember you can be anyone or anything in a mask. I was the Red Death at the masquerade but I don't recall your costume?" He knew she was there of course but really could not place her, absent from Christine's orbit for a change.

"I was an angel. I even had wings but my mask was only small, similar to the little farfalle ones only on a stick. That costume was Maman's idea and though it _was_ lovely I think I would like something a bit more me this time."

Did she realise how "her" that costume was? He could not recall it but thought now that it would not have suited anyone better, including Christine and that fact really threw him. In all the talk of angels Meg was the only deserving candidate for the accolade although quite a different idea was taking seed in his mind where her new mask was concerned. He could picture it clearly but would she let him do it? Could she trust him _that_ much? His eminently distracting train of thought was interrupted by yet more questions but it was a subject he would definitely return to!

"Why did _you_ use leather?" Stupid question Meg; did he not just say papier mache was useless for regular use and she rather thought ceramic or porcelain would be a dangerous move and heavy too? What if he tripped and it smashed although she didn't think was likely? He would have had to make hundreds of them – never mind the potential for injury!

"It is a natural material so is breathable and contrary to what you might think quite workable. It just requires a little finesse when wet. It's also very light and virtually indestructible." He missed his mask. He missed the familiar feel of it hugging his cheek. Perhaps it was time. Now that Rosa knew he wasn't some sort of invalid the necessity for bandages was gone. If he was honest it was at times like these when he was out and about amongst other people when the bindings irritated him most. They covered more of his face than was warranted and he did not want to be seen as walking wounded anymore and quite frankly detested the thought of people assuming Meg walked beside him out of charity or obligation – although he supposed it was a sort of misguided obligation that had led her here. It made him feel less of the man he was struggling (with Meg's help) to become and more the monster he was trying desperately to leave behind.

The only fly in the ointment was something he had not counted on. Meg would no longer need to tend to him each morning and the thought depressed him. He had quite unconsciously come to crave her gentle ministrations every day, the few minutes of her undivided attention allowing him glimpses of a life he might have had without the curse of his birth. Lately his mind had begun to replace the reality of the clinical task she performed with forbidden images of her beautiful soft fingers applying a lover's touch to his ruined skin. More often than not he imagined them snake down his neck and he pictured her tremble with anticipation as they disappeared beneath his collar searing the skin of his shoulders and... oh he had to stop this! It was making the blood racing around inside him organise and head distinctly south and it was so very wrong to think of her like this. He could hear the voice of what he assumed was his conscience (which was beginning to sound a lot like Meg) telling him it was just this sort of madness that had gotten him into trouble before.

"Erik...ERIK!" Goodness that man. For someone with supposedly superior ocular functions he was completely oblivious to her, his eye closed and mouth softening and had she not known it to be ridiculous she would have thought he was asleep!

Her innocent wide eyed stare and brow furrowed in concern at his daydream state woke him to the realisation that he definitely had to stop thinking of her like that.

"Sorry, I was miles away." Another lifetime to be exact, he thought sadly. "Shall we move on? It is early yet so perhaps if you're not too tired of walking we could find Santa Maria della Salute and we shall see if you have what it takes to frighten me."

* * *

Forgetting her aching feet, Meg skipped up the steps of the great church which had been built by the Venetians, so Erik informed her, in homage to the Virgin after she delivered them from the great plague in 1629. Its huge dome dominated the skyline and she realised she had seen it the evening they had first arrived coming across the lagoon seemingly a lifetime ago. It was certainly no San Marco but she thought it was beautiful all the same, not full of fancy gold mosaics but still honest and pure. There was barely a soul about as it was still siesta and it seemed they had the place to themselves. With all this space she wished she had her toe shoes with her; she was itching to leap about and here would have been perfect. She supposed that would have to wait a little while as there was quite simply no space in their little flat but she could at least stretch later on; she had been neglecting her feet of late and Maman would not be impressed if she knew. She walked to the centre of the basilica noticing the odd shape of the interior – it did not take the usual cruciform shape – and looked up at her destination. Suddenly she felt her previous enthusiasm for this little experiment waning somewhat. It was awfully high.

Erik did not miss the decidedly green look that flashed over her face and allowed himself a particularly satisfied smirk. She would be doing well to get up there never mind actually say anything! Perhaps not everyone had been gifted the ability he had to move about up there just as easily as she did down here. He walked around the octagonal space until he found the pillar that bore the entrance for the stairs to the dome. Chancing a quick glance inside he discovered it was unlit. Oh dear, Meg was not going to like that! He considered that this may actually be a pointless exercise if she would not go up in the first place.

"Meg I have found the stairs so I shall just wait here while you make your way up and then you can stun me with your amazing ventriloquism." He waited while she in turn took a peek in the doorway and almost laughed at the expression of horror and disbelief on her face.

"You _cannot _be serious. It's pitch black! I cannot see a thing and will likely break my neck in the process. No way. Definitely not." She stood defiantly by the entrance, arms folded resolutely across her chest, chin stuck right out. A slightly panicky sensation was gripping her now at the thought of him forcing her to go up those stairs. She _did_ want to try whatever it was he had done at il Muto for herself but this was too much.

Erik dashed across to one of the side altars and lit a fresh candle returning to present it to her with a flourish.

"Let there be light. Up you go." This was hilarious. He really shouldn't but it was far too delicious winding her up and it was so pathetically easy to do lately. Her facial expressions alone were giving him cause for serious merriment and if he was not careful he was going to laugh which he did not think would go down well with Meg at all.

"I said NO. Damn it Erik you can't make me." Meg stamped her foot in violent protest and glared at him in the most menacing way she could muster, unable to keep a somewhat sulky look from appearing.

"Oh can't I?" Minx! Erik took the candle from her, bent low to avoid hitting the plinth and grabbed Meg's hand. He probably should have put her in front of him in case she faltered but at this point he wasn't going back down only to give her the chance of escape. Where was all her courage that had served her (and him) so well on the night of the fire?

"Oh you rat! Give me back my hand, I can't balance properly!" She had no option but to follow him but he had her right hand in his left and was directly in front of her so it was making her lean too far to her left side. Stupid twisty stairs. They wound anticlockwise and that's where the wedge shaped steps were at their narrowest; she was terrified of falling. Almost imperceptibly she felt the grip on her right hand disappear only to feel it take her left instead.

"Keep your right hand on the wall to brace yourself; you won't fall." She was trembling with fear, he could feel it coursing though the tiny palm pressed to his never mind the fact that she was practically stuck to his back like a limpet; going back down was going to be interesting.

"You bet your life I won't because then you are coming with me and I do not wish to survive a fall only to have the breath crushed out of me by you landing on me." She was getting really queasy now, the candle barely providing any sort of illumination. Erik was obviously part bat or some other equally proficient night creature, she thought irritated with him beyond reason.

Finally after seemingly hours of literally going round in circles they came out onto a narrow walkway around the edge of the dome. Ornate stone balustrades provided the only barrier between it and a sizeable drop to the marble floor far below. Erik unhanded Meg and leaned over the stone railing raising an eyebrow as he looked pointedly at her and then back over the side before turning back to the stairway.

"Wait! What now? You can't mean to leave me here?"

"Of course I do. How am I to hear you from down there if I am up here? When I am underneath you can begin; just speak normally." He disappeared back down the stairs with a lightness of step that came from years of living in semi darkness. In mere seconds he appeared directly beneath the dome and stood with his arms folded waiting for Meg to begin.

Meg couldn't move. Erik had put her hands on the balustrade before he left and now she couldn't move them. She was desperately trying to think of something impressive to say but her mind was a fog. Mumbling incoherently she tried to talk herself out of the cloying terror gripping her. "Stupid man. Look at him down there all tall and able to see in the dark. Maybe not bat because they can't see at all. No owl is better, rarer; yes he's definitely part owl, always flitting about with those sharp ears damn him. Oh this is stupid; what do I say? "Say Eleanore, your bonnet is especially fetching with that new blue ribbon you bought." Ridiculous. Oh get me out of here. Perhaps if I just leaned over a little more then I...oooohhh Ehhhhrrrrr...oooof."

Erik had listened to her little conversation with herself, catching only snatches but got the general idea that she was not happy, either being up there or with him. The acoustics were not as good as in the Populaire but then he had been able to access the very top of the dome which would make a huge difference. Then something happened. He heard her exclamation then a rustle of skirts and then silence. Daft woman! She'd no doubt fallen over; well at least she would no longer be stuck to the balustrade. But what if she had hurt herself? She could have hit her head and even now be unconscious. Quick as lightening he darted through door taking the steps two and three at a time in pitch darkness, having dropped the extinguished candle in his haste. At the top he paused to survey the damage.

Meg was in an undignified heap at the opposite side of the dome, face and hands pressed to the wall like glue looking for all the world as if being held at gunpoint, but otherwise unharmed. He released the breath he had been holding, shook his head and failed to repress the smirk at her total inability to deal with heights. He glanced up and around the great space and narrowed his eyes as a previously overlooked fact came to him. He moved silently back to the wall and sank down on the floor pressing his face to the wall just as Meg was doing. Then the wonderful happened just as he knew it would!

Meg felt like a prize idiot. Her foot had slipped on the polished stone and she had fallen backwards, landing heavily on her backside. Tears of shock and frustration pricked at her eyes but she would not give Erik the satisfaction of hearing her cry. Crawling on her hands and knees she managed to get as far away from the evil balustrade and gaping void as possible and leaned gratefully against the wall, the cool plaster a relief to her hot angry cheeks. How was she to get down? She was damned if she would call him for help so she would just perhaps rest for a few minutes until she felt able to stand. "Oh I wish I was able to do this, wish I didn't hate heights so much. It's just not fair. He'll laugh at me now and I will just be stupid scared Meg."

"Who Who"

Meg's eyes widened at the eerie sound floating around her ears; it almost sounded like the call of an ow...no! It couldn't possibly be, he could not have heard her, could he? Where was he?

"Wh...what?" She answered back in a choked whisper fully expecting silence as she was nearly sure she had imagined it, her terror no doubt capable of causing all sorts of hallucinations.

"Who-who will laugh at you?" Erik was unable to reign in his mischievous side as he did his best owl impersonation. Oh this was worth a thousand stamping fits! She had no idea he had come up to join her, so terrified was she to move her face from the wall.

"_Y_..._you_ will? Erik is that you?" There was some strange magic happening up there and she was afraid to move lest she break the spell. She tried to ignore the very obvious fact that he was teasing her.

"Of course; I heard you therefore I cannot in all conscience laugh." Even though he had, well sort of; though not out loud.

"You mean it _worked_? But I was barely speaking. Then how can _I_ hear _you_?" Relief that she wasn't a total failure and mortification for what he must have heard competed with the increasingly familiar feeling of fluttering low in her stomach and she had broken out in goose bumps along the back of her neck. She shifted slightly, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in her current position not least because she had not the slightest clue what was happening.

"_I_ hear everything ma petite but you now hear me because this is a whispering gallery." Erik purred along the wall knowing she was completely mystified. "Keep your face close to the wall. Because of its shape the sound travels along the curved surface of the wall straight from my mouth to your ears. Genius, is it not?"

Slowly Meg turned her head, fully expecting to see him right behind her; his words eerily close (she could swear she felt his breath on her ear). A dark figure was just discernable through the open work of the stone railing directly across the void from her.

"I can see you." It could have been anyone from all she could see but she knew it was him. She could not stifle the thrill in her voice, feeling incredibly privileged to experience something so unique. She had not known places like this existed, that something like this was possible but of course Erik _would_ know. She did not doubt he could find a quirk in every building he walked into.

"Are you alright?" He supposed she had gotten a fright when she slipped and that coupled with her paralysing fear of heights had left her rooted to her current spot.

"I'm perfectly fine thank you very much." Not in a million years would she admit to him that she was incapable of movement. She suspected the bizarre sensation of hearing him as close as if his lips touched her was only adding to it.

Erik moved to get up and silently made his way across to where she sat awkwardly with her legs folded beneath her. "Come, let us go back down." Leaning down he placed a hand gently on her shoulder and felt her stiffen beneath him.

Startled by his touch having not heard him move behind her, Meg realised she was in all probability going to be stuck here for the night. She willed her fingers to push against the wall but not a muscle responded. How could her own body betray her so completely?

She couldn't admit that this place had defeated her. How small and weak it made her feel. She had faced the darkness and the unknown the night of the fire and now she was sitting as a statue crippled by her mind. It did not make sense.

"Meg, take my hand." Erik spoke softly and bent down to prise her left hand from the wall with his right; her fingers rigid with fear. Pulling her up to a stand and back towards him, he hoped the rest of her would instinctively follow. He was not prepared for where her instinct sent her, the force of her slamming into him; Meg having now replaced the wall with his body. She assumed the same position with her face pressed to his chest, her right ear directly over his heart which had launched straight into a gallop akin to a stallion kept too long in his stable. She would certainly hear it. Her left hand still gripped his and her right tightly grasped his shoulder as if they were dancing; the angel and the devil. The last and in fact only other time he had held a woman this intimately had been when he brought Christine down to his home but even then she had her back turned to him. This was vastly different. For the first time he felt every inch of her pressed deliciously flush against every inch of him and could not ignore the abundant softness flattened to his ribcage.

He _must_ remember she was not quite herself and that this was not entirely voluntary although he could allow a second to commit the sensation to blessed memory. He did not know how fast his heart beat (it had long since passed a gallop) though it felt as if it would leave his body at any moment or stop altogether. It was working overtime to push pints of hot blood through his veins and suddenly he realised he needed to get her away from him. Meg would not only hear his ridiculous heartbeat but she would feel it and far more besides if he didn't move her, now. Desperately he flicked through compositions in his head to find something, anything to take his mind off his frankly painful predicament. Grabbing a light hearted Paganini for dear life he tried to concentrate on the complex arrangement of the very simple melody. He knew with perfect clarity that the next time, indeed every time he took bow to string for this piece; his mind would be assaulted by this moment. The scent of roses was now inextricably linked with the Nocturne and this too would become Meg's Carnevale de Venezia. She had infiltrated his music.

Meg's mortification was complete yet she could not tear herself away. The regular, insistent pounding beneath her ear seemed to regulate her breathing like a metronome, allowing some of the terror to subside. No one had ever held her like this, certainly not a man and her previous resolve to ignore her fluttering stomach crumbled into dust. He was so solid, so warm and Meg felt safe. Teh irony was not lost on her; so many had been afraid of him but never her. Even now that she knew the full extent of his misdeeds she did not fear him but she did fear herself. Feeling safe was one thing and quite acceptable given the circumstances but this...this churning in her belly and (though she fought strenuously to deny it) the strange sensation in her chest as if a hand squeezed down on her most vital of organs was unacceptable. That was new and although she was ignorant of most of the ways of men and women she knew to be afraid. It meant danger and insanity and was completely, utterly pointless. It was also doing the man she was supposed to be helping a grave disservice so it had to stop. Now.

Erik felt the hand in his right loosen its grip and push back at almost exactly the same as he did the same. Breathing a sigh of relief at his near brush with mortal shame for a reaction he could not control, he turned to move to the stairs. He had been about to put his free hand on her back, the hand that had been dangling uselessly at his side for the past few moments. If he _had_ done he knew with certainty that he would not have been able to let go.

Meg followed Erik to the stairs and noticed they had no candle to light the way, not that it had been of much use or that he would have much need of it. Again he took her hand in his and slowly they made their way back down. The dark, their endless winding progress and her confusing thoughts combined to liquefy her knees to the point of jelly; surely she would faint, she felt so lightheaded. Her free hand had been skimming the wall just as on the way up but now it was dark and she did not think her legs would hold her up, nor the wall for that matter.

Oh God is she trying to kill me! Erik felt her hand on his shoulder like a branding iron, searing through his clothes. He was trying so hard to put those forbidden images away but damn her she had unrolled them again like a new carpet. He felt a breeze on his face meaning the exit was near and it could not come soon enough for him. He needed air, great lungfuls of it. Once at the bottom he made to walk straight for the main doors but Meg stopped him.

She desperately needed to empty her head of the madness within her and she knew no better way that to appeal to Erik's need to fill it back up again with endless architectural facts. "Erik, why is the inside of this place an odd shape, I mean it's not usual is it?"

"You are quite correct; it is actually an octagon representing the eight points of the star on the Virgin's crown." He could have kissed her.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N **Sorry Guys for the long delay in getting this up...neither Erik not Meg would play along and my muse went out to lunch this week. Anyway, here it is and for those of you who care this takes place about last week in April/first week in May which means close to 7/8 wks out of Paris.

* * *

Chapter 19

"Point, flex, point, flex..." Meg repeated the mantra as she stretched out her toes on her bed. This was as much as she could do to keep the suppleness in her feet, that and the warm up exercises she performed religiously every morning. She itched to leap and twirl but she would get no further than dreams about it for the time being. She hadn't been thinking about her need to move freely when they had taken the rooms above the pasticceria; Erik had been her only concern. He could play his violin, read, draw and was safe and that was all that really mattered; her time would come when everything had settled down she supposed. In the meantime she could point and flex, keep the cramps at bay and prevent her muscles from seizing altogether. She looked longingly at the pristine and untried blush satin toe shoes her mother had packed for her, their wide matching ribbons folded neatly around the centre; perhaps when she came back from her appointment with Rosa...

With only four weeks to Elena Pellizzaris nuptials the bride's mother was making good on her promise to make the diminutive blonde's transformation her personal mission. Charles Worth's lavish gowns had been causing a sensation in Paris and Rosa had in on good authority that Signora Villani had made very faithful copies of several of his patterns enabling her young friend the pick of what was being called _haute couture_. The poor girl was clueless when it came to clothes and had even less of an idea how to dress for anything other than comfort. Well she would see to it that Meg's light would shine the night of Elena's wedding; she had an idea that there were a few shady corners needed illuminating in the rooms above her shop.

Meg was never so grateful for the long hours of vigorous exercise that had sculpted and maintained the trim waist obviously required to carry off any of the designs Rosa was suggesting. For hours she stood dutifully atop a wooden box while a wizened grey haired woman (who was allegedly a wonder with cloth) poked and prodded her with bony fingers clutching an infinite length of measuring tape. Signora Villani made numerous annotations in a ledger on her workbench while commenting at length on Meg's overly generous bust and the problems it would create. She really needn't have. Meg was under no illusions as to unsuitability of her irregular figure to any of the gowns she liked the look of. Bolts of silk in every weight and colour had been paraded in front of them and she had no idea how she was supposed to make a decision between ten shades of a colour that were so subtle she couldn't actually differentiate. She really wasn't very good at this; bar a few simple dresses she had lived in production costumes and they had always been dictated by the wardrobe department in the Populaire or in the case of Don Juan...Erik.

Meg did not feel comfortable with wearing anything too formal in church, not wanting to take from the bride, although Rosa had mentioned that most people would dress up for the evening entertainment when everyone would be masked as was custom. She pointed out that having a second bodice made up for the evening and perhaps the addition of a train was the "done thing" as it necessitated only ever buying one skirt for two completely different gowns. Meg bowed to her superior knowledge and was quite happy to pick out a design from several Rosa thought would suit having been assured by the older woman that no, the bodice was not too revealing and that Signora Villani was just envious. If she was going to expose that much of her décolleté she was glad of the chance to cover her face for she did not think she would be able to look anyone in the eye let alone Erik. In fact especially Erik.

"Meg you will look just perfect; trust me. You have been blessed with the figure to fill such a garment and will never have to resort to stuffing your under things like some women I know!" Rosa knew that no man in his right mind and one in particular would be able to take his eyes of the young blonde in all her finery and that was exactly what she was counting on.

Meg had never believed herself _blessed_ with regard to her figure before; her height suited her art but her bust did not. It had been more an inconvenience if anything and she shuddered at the number of productions she had been forced to bind her chest for and she had stood out to one too many stage hands because of it. She had not considered it would ever come in useful but it seemed Rosa was intent on showcasing her voluptuous figure rather than minimising it as Meg was want to do.

"Oh I almost forgot and she would never forgive me; Bella turns seven next week and we are having a small party for her on Saturday afternoon. She wanted to make sure you both knew and would come. It will only be a few of her little friends and us of course..."

"We would be delighted, that is I'm sure Er... I mean Signor Erik will be when I tell him although maybe we could call in after her friends have left...we wouldn't want to spoil her fun." Meg was sure Erik would rather _not_ have to deal with several curious little people running around staring at his bandaged face, asking awkward questions of Bella; it wouldn't be fair to the little girl or to him. He was going to have to face the Pellizzaris en masse at the wedding anyway so that would be enough to deal with. There was also the question of a gift. She would leave that to him as she suspected he would know just what to get her.

* * *

Meg's mask was presenting all manner of problems. Erik had abandoned his initial idea of making it in leather as it would require her willing participation and although she appeared to be completely at ease in his company he did not think she was quite ready for having warm wax painted on her face. One day he would do it perhaps but he hadn't forgotten her horrified reaction to the mannequin he had made of Christine. Papier maché would allow him to be infinitely more creative and actually lent itself far better to the idea in his head. His first stumbling block was that he had no bust on which to work which he would have had with a wax cast and so he concluded he would just make her image in clay allowing him to create the plaster cast in which he would form her mask. This was how the furious clandestine sketching began.

Erik was no stranger to covert manoeuvres but evading Meg's innate curiosity was proving exhausting. She was forever asking him what he was reading, what he was playing, what he was drawing and so for the past few days he had been furiously sketching anything that happened to be in sight to satisfy this need of Meg's to see what he had done and his need to keep it a secret. He got wise the first time she asked him what he was drawing and told her to wait until it was finished; a haphazardly thrown together china teacup and saucer complete with the lace cloth it sat on drawing gasps of delight not twenty minutes later. Erik now had countless detailed drawings of baskets of pastries, bowls of roses (he was quite fond of those), the potted lemon tree on the terrace and several kitchen condiments including one of the silver sugar tongs. She had commandeered the hastily drawn lemon tree for the kitchen, sticking it to a dresser door with drawing pins and another of a small bowl of roses (which he had coloured with chalk since she had professed to like it so much) had found its way into her room. He quite imagined she would be equally thrilled had he drawn a straight line on the page, such was her enthusiasm for even his most carelessly drawn images.

The only _person_ other than himself he had ever drawn was Christine and then always from memory. He was unprepared for the raft of emotions committing Meg to paper would have on him, having forgotten what an intimate act it really was; the fact she was in the same room while he drew her held an unexpected but not unwelcome thrill. Unbeknownst to her he had replicated every eyelash and each tiny crease upon her lips, studying her quietly and intently while she cooked, wrote and read; all the while continuing whatever still life she would want to see on the page above the one that held her portrait. Studies of her from every angle, details of her eyes, nose, mouth and ears (she had curious little ears that were perfectly formed with a tiny pinch at the top of each just like an elf) littered his room and even though he had more than enough material to begin her mask he could not seem to give up his guilty pleasure. Close ups of her dainty hands holding pieces of fruit or a book were unnecessary for his purpose but he had captured them all the same; they were the warm, soft hands that touched his face every day.

He could not remember what Christine's hands looked like anymore or even if he had ever drawn them; in fact he struggled to recall her features to mind, the small details becoming hazy and blurred around the edges at times. Brief glances of the young Pellizzari bride-to-be Elena, who looked so like her (and yet nothing like her) were all that kept her image fresh in his mind during his waking hours. And since he told Meg all about what had happened in Paris his Angel-filled nightmares were less and less, their violent intensity gradually subsiding along with the vision of her he had thought would never diminish. She no longer clouded his waking moments so much and lately had eased her hold on his dreams; brown chestnut curls were slowly morphing into a long flaxen plait and laughing cinnamon orbs fought for dominance with the dark chocolate irises of his former pupil. He had not been conscious of it up to the time he had brought Meg to see Santa Maria Della Salute although he conceded she had probably been seeping into his subconscious from the first. That night he had known _exactly _what was happening, waking more times than he cared to remember, drenched in sweat, struggling for breath and seriously contemplating a cold bath. The one who condemned him to the dark was being systematically exorcised by the one who had pulled him into the light and he no longer feared sleep in the same way he had all his life; a deep sense of mortification when he met her innocent eyes across the breakfast table being a small price to pay for the rapturous and highly illogical dreams she had inspired.

* * *

Aching and tired from a day filled with too many decisions and nothing as yet to show for it apart from a childish fantasy of herself in swathes of luscious fabric and centre of attention for once, Meg fell on her bed having barely acknowledged Erik as she had made the transition from sitting room to stairs. Grudgingly she moved to peel off her coat and pulled off her walking shoes to step into the softer kid slippers she wore indoors and searched for her small sewing box before making her way back down to the sitting room.

Halting at the bottom of the stairs, she noticed Erik was drawing, again. Vaguely she had registered his outline at the table surrounded by his sketch pads and boxes of chalk when she had arrived home; she supposed he had spent his time much as he had been since they had been to post her letters. He appeared to have an insatiable appetite for committing odd objects to paper though they _were_ exquisitely executed. Meg never really appreciated common household items before but Erik had managed to breathe life into dainty teacups, milk jugs and even cutlery. Her favourites were the ones he did of whatever flowers were on the table and she had staked her claim to one of these for her own room. He had finished it in colour for her when she had asked if she could have it and he had managed to make the roses seem so real, down to the veins in each petal that she could almost smell them.

He was in his usual spot inside the balcony doors, left knee wedged against the table, balancing precariously on the back legs of the chair he sat on. She was waiting for the day that chair got the better of him and he landed in a heap on the floor but it hadn't happened so far. He raised his eyebrow at the small sewing kit she had in her hand and then noticed the satin shoes she clutched in the other, giving her a brief nod of comprehension.

"Taking to the stage Meg? I'm sure the table would hold you, though perhaps a little cramped for a tour jeté or pas de chat I think. Still, a pirouette or two would not be out of the question. I'll stay down here in the orchestra pit shall I? " Erik swung lazily on his chair as he envisioned the impossible performance. He had wondered when the shoes would make an appearance. For a girl who had spent her life on her toes she had spent the past six weeks on her soles and he knew it must be killing her especially if dance to _her_ was anything like music was to him (and he suspected it was).

"What, not in your _own_ box? Sometimes Erik you are quite hilarious; on the table indeed! Just because I cannot dance _here_ does not mean I can't at least sew my ribbons on and soften them up a little." Meg answered somewhat indignantly, throwing a glance about the cosy but limited space, instantly regretting her words. She had not meant to make Erik feel like it was his fault because it was no one's fault. It just was.

"Yes, quite." Suitably chastised, he realised bitterly that he had taken her from her passion in life and it pained him to see the frustration on her face. Erik knew she was like a bird beating her wings furiously against the cage door and lately while she bound his face he could feel her bouncing from one foot to the other, humming some nameless tune to her movements. He could sense the energy coursing off her and knew she must be like a coiled spring at this point. He could still do all the things that kept him sane yet she could not. Erik knew he would eventually have to start thinking about the future (something he could not remember ever doing before), about the possibility of somewhere more suitable for his needs and hers of course. And he knew that day had finally come. He liked Italy and Venice in particular but thought perhaps something just across on the mainland would be even better. Somewhere he could have lots and lots of space...

* * *

Meg settled herself on the settee across from him, folding her legs beneath her having slid her little kid slippers from her feet and unwound the long satin ribbons from the middle of the shoes in her lap. As she concentrated on threading her needle she heard Erik scribbling again, his right hand having resumed its path across the sketch pad he held on his knee. He must be getting tired of cups and flowers by now; she thought of the beautifully detailed drawings she had seen of her friend and realised the images were probably only another means to capture Christine in some way, to keep her near, like the wax doll.

"What item of crockery has you so enthralled this evening Erik?" Meg craned her neck to look about the room although he was facing her and there was nothing but his art materials on the table in front of him.

Erik's hand stilled on the page, raising his eyebrow at her rather apt choice of adjective and allowed himself a second to deliberate on his next words, finally deciding on the path he had least followed up to now.

"You. Although I would hardly describe you as crockery. Do you mind?" He enquired softly, inclining his head and raising his eyebrow in question. No one had ever willingly sat for him before but neither had he asked permission of the only two people he had ever drawn and he worried that perhaps she would be uncomfortable with it knowing what she did about him.

Meg fought hard to keep the colour from her cheeks that accompanied her complete astonishment, dropping her sewing into her lap as she sat to attention. He was drawing _her_ - little nowhere, everywhere Meg!

"Of course I don't mind! No one has _ever_ drawn me before. Should I sit still or change position? Will you let me see it when it's finished?" She couldn't contain her excitement at the idea that she would be immortalised and thought what a privilege it was to be so by Erik who could draw _anything _and make it look beautiful so maybe he could do that with her too? A lifetime spent alone in the dark, secret, nameless, faceless and friendless; he had existed in the shadows and merged like a chameleon with the scenery much as she did. It was heartbreaking really, the hidden talent that no one had ever seen or acknowledged. He seemed pathetically grateful and almost embarrassed every time she commented on something he had drawn even if it was of something simple. Of course compliments and praise for his efforts would be completely alien to him and that she could identify with to a certain extent. She reflected bitterly that being her mother's daughter meant she had been exposed to far more criticism than she necessarily deserved during her years of training.

"Relax Meg, just go back to what you were doing and ignore me. I promise to show you but _only_ when it's finished." So many questions and just like Bella; if he didn't know better he would swear they were related. He had watched her begin fidgeting the moment she knew his attention was on her where before she had been lounging contentedly, head bent to the side exposing the long elegant line of her neck from her right shoulder to her ear and completely oblivious to his intent. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything?

Ignore him! Did he have any idea how completely and utterly ridiculous a request that was? Contrary to what he probably believed he _was_ and always _had _been impossible to ignore, even when he disappeared for weeks and months on end back in Paris he was on everyone's mind in some form or another. While his presence may not always have been welcomed it was always felt and in the weeks she had the benefit of his company it was almost overpowering. Remembering the incident in San Marco and then again in the dome she felt somehow captured whenever he turned his full attention to her. It was thrilling and unsettling all at once. He was like the bellows that fanned the chest full of glowing embers she felt she carried around with her now into an inferno.

"I can't relax; no one has ever drawn me before. I don't want to spoil it." She almost wailed in protest sticking her bottom lip out like a sulky child, terrified he would lose patience with her and stop.

"You won't spoil it. Just go back to your sewing and tell me what you did today; you'll soon forget about me." Erik knew he should have kept his mouth shut and told her he was sketching the door handle or the salt cellar. Perhaps if he could get her wittering on about fabrics and patterns she would calm down.

"Oh I forgot to tell you earlier! It's Bella's birthday next week and Rosa invited us to her party on Saturday but I didn't think you would want to have all her little friends poking at you so I said we would call down later, when they were gone? We should think about getting her something and I thought you might have some ideas." She knew exactly what ideas he would have but he needed to come to that conclusion by himself. She was a bundle of nerves now she knew he was watching her every move and was sure she would sew her fingers together. Taking her thimble in her left hand she proceeded to tack the ends of the ribbon to the inside of one shoe running her fingers over the heavy dull satin; it was much like the material she had been persuaded to choose for her new gown except for the colour. Absently she wondered what Erik would wear. She assumed he would turn up looking resplendent as he always did most especially if he thought he was going to have an audience and with a legitimate excuse to wear a new mask. She was sorry he wouldn't have the pick of the props like in Paris; she had definitely seen the sword with the moulded skull on the hilt before. For someone who had no contact with the outside world he really made the most of the unrivalled access he had to the inside; picking costumes, wigs and props for his use whenever the need arose – the opera house had been his personal grown up toy box.

So the little doll from downstairs was having a birthday! It actually gave him the perfect opportunity to give her something he had been planning for a while but would have seemed out of place otherwise. Tomorrow he would begin his search and perhaps seek out a tailor seeing at it was long past time he had a new wardrobe. Meg wasn't the only one who was attending this wedding and he was damned if he would let her down by looking anything less than perfect...or as near to it as he could aspire to. Trust Meg to make their excuses while Bella's friends were there. She seemed to only ever think of him and it made him more determined than ever to take the best representation of her possible.

She was yawning now, no doubt exhausted from a day shopping with Rosa, and hadn't gotten very far with her sewing by the looks of it. He sat and watched rapt as Meg slowly succumbed to sleep, shifting position on her seat so she could rest her head on her left arm, her satin shoe still held loosely in her right hand. Furiously he committed her faithfully to the page, noticing how her long spidery lashes fanned across the tops of her cheekbones like spun sugar. She had managed to tuck herself into a graceful arc not unlike the creature she often embodied, although now he studied her features he saw the youth and innocence shining through all her earlier sarcasm and bravado and realised she was still so young; a tiny little thing really.

When he had sketches as much as he needed to finish the piece Meg was well and truly asleep. It was still early so he set down the pad and moved across to the settee taking the needle from her hand lest she hurt herself. She had only managed to barely tack one ribbon on - she would never make her fortune as a seamstress! Smiling at the faint purring sound she was making, he bent down and gently prised the satin shoes from under her right wrist.

"Sogni d'oro gattina" he whispered softly before moving back to the table, resuming his position on the chair propping his knee against the table once more. With a deftness that belied the size of his hands he unpicked Meg's effort and proceeded to finish both of her shoes with tiny even stitches that a surgeon would have been proud of.

* * *

**A/N**

Gattina is "kitten" in Italian for anyone who was wondering and sogni d'oro is their version of sweet dreams - it literally means golden dreams ; ) I thought it was time he got native with his pet names.

Charles Frederick Worth (1825-1895), an Englishman based in Paris - he was said to be the father of "haute couture" and his gowns were to die for. Check them out on Google. His patterns were copied all across Europe so designer knock offs is not a new concept!

For anyone who's interested in how the Venetians (and therefore Erik) do a papier maché mask – check out CaMacana's website.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: So sorry for delay in getting this out to you. It's becoming tougher and tougher to keep the pace up and I don't want the quality to suffer. Anyway Happy birthday Bella! Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 20

Erik enfolded Bella's gift in sheet after sheet of pristine white tissue paper, making a bow with a long length of black grosgrain silk ribbon. It was impossible to disguise the present underneath but Meg had insisted it still needed to be wrapped. That was the surprise part of it apparently; not that he had any experience of gifts – either giving or receiving - but it was of vital importance to Meg that it be done properly. Birthdays were another mystery. He had no memory of ever having one and yet he had a birth date just like everyone else; in fact that was probably the _only_ thing he had in common with the rest of mankind.

From what she had told him and from what he could hear of the shrieks, some sort of party was underway below them complete with several of Bella's school friends involving the consumption of vast amounts of sugary foods. It was to culminate in a cake complete with candles – one for each year. This was how life was celebrated apparently; every passing year marked with a flame. It put him in mind of Meg and how she lit candles every time she went into a church. Hypothetically he would have thirty-five at his next birthday - a veritable inferno - and assumed the date would roll by this year much as it had every other year since he was born, silently and unheeded. No celebration, no musings by _his_ mother on how the day he was born had been the best day of her life, her greatest achievement. Antoinette said it apparently - Meg had told him this was the one time every year she felt as if her mother really cared for her.

_

* * *

_

_How long does it take to wrap a present for goodness sake?_ They would need to go down soon as Bella's friends would be going home shortly. Erik had been closeted in his room for hours lately and today was no exception. Doubtless he was busy making new masks but Meg was strangely put out by his long absences, having become accustomed to their verbal jousting. Even when he was in an irregular humour he generally amused her in some way but lately his prolonged absences were beginning to irritate her.

He had never left the house without her but a few mornings ago he had informed her politely yet in a voice that brooked no argument that he was going out "on business" and would be back before lunch. Before she had a chance to enquire further, he had vanished, leaving her agape and reeling in a cloud of sandalwood and something altogether more dangerous – determined Erik. Of course when he returned with Bella's present she knew just what business he'd been referring to but the whole incident had only served to add to her increasing awareness around him of late. She knew it had been festering for quite some time, clawing at her relentlessly despite her best efforts to ignore it. Long before her mortification in the dome, before that bizarre moment in San Marco when she had felt she was floating above the ground, held in space by the force of his gaze; no, before they had even left Paris, having spent less than twenty-four hours with him she had felt odd. It had started in her mother's bedroom with the Phantom.

_I can't be! He can't possibly mean more to me than another person to talk with or share meals with? _

This slightly nauseous feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with eating something off but she was definitely coming down with something. Her efforts to outmanoeuvre it so far had failed. She knew it was pointless to fight anymore, that lying to herself had proved fruitless so it had to stop.

Meg _knew_ she cared about him but she had understood it as a wish for his welfare, a hope that he would heal and begin to live again. And it had been. Until she could no longer ignore that there was something else creeping in beside her heartfelt concern for her friend's wellbeing.

_He's almost twice my age for goodness sake and the least suitable candidate I could have picked for this, not that I've had any choice in the matter but I don't suppose anyone really does. _But _s_he had seen what no one else ever had, possibly even Christine, that there was a real feeling, thinking man with an actual heart underneath the machinations of the cape and the mask and the cynical sneer. _And I know what he's done, what he's capable of and yet...he's more than that, so much more. Oh God! _

She had fallen prey to the spells he wove when he took up his violin and made her sing like no one else ever had. He had taught her about Venice, about a place he had never been but in his dreams. He listened to what she had to say; her opinions seemed to matter to him and they never had to anyone before.

_He finished my ribbons!_

Her heart constricted painfully as she remembered waking with a slightly stiff neck hours after he had begun sketching her only to find a rug draped over her legs and an empty room. Lighting the lamp in her bedroom she had spotted her satin shoes in the centre of her pillow, their ribbons folded neatly around the middle. She had not remembered getting further than a few stitches or bringing them back upstairs but when she unravelled them she knew Erik had done it. Perfect, tiny neat stitches marched across the satin ribbons exactly as they should.

And still none of this explained why or how things had changed. Meg knew it had something to do with the way he looked at her, not that he was looking at her any differently than he always had but she knew she had become more conscious of it. Unnervingly he always looked her in the eye and she found it impossible to look away; it almost felt as if he could bore under her skin and see everything that was swirling around inside her. It was quite astonishing the things that man could do with his eyes alone and that was even before the rest of his face got involved!

She found herself looking forward to those few minutes every morning when she could touch his face, knowing she was incredibly privileged to be allowed to do so. It made her feel slightly ashamed that she took longer than was strictly necessary, letting her fingers linger in his soft hair and because he seemed to like it, raking her fingers over his scalp. She knew what _that_ felt like. She hung on his every word even when he was being sarcastic and blatantly teasing her and knew no greater joy than when she exacted a smile from him. They were a rare and precious thing, like shooting stars and she found herself wanting to make a wish every time she saw one.

Her mother would have known what to make of it...yet she knew with absolute certainty that having recognised her feelings for what they were would tell her to quash whatever it was that had gotten inside her, whatever little seed had taken hold. She would want her to snuff it out, repress it, and kill it for it could only bring pain and sorrow. Meg knew she could no more stop the tide; she sensed that once Erik had gotten under her skin it would be nigh on impossible to get him out. _Poor Christine!_ She felt a measure of sympathy for the younger girl and the mental turmoil she must be going through.

No, her mother mustn't get even a whiff of it. She would not understand for even _she_ who had known him long before her still did not know the Erik that she did. What was she to do? She knew her mother's voice in her head spoke the truth. _"Ignore it, suffocate it, deny it." _Yet how could she kill something that made her feel a little more worthy than before, a little less invisible? _Because it will hurt in the end, that's why and the higher you climb the further you will fall...in the end. _

She was on her own, totally and completely on her own and the only other person who she would have wanted to share this revelation with – her best friend - must _never_ find out.

* * *

"Oh you came – Bella will be so thrilled. You just missed the madness." Rosa's entire face lit up in welcome, taking in the eager smile of her young friend and noticing the hesitation in her companion. She knew Signor Erik didn't go out much except with Meg so perhaps he wasn't comfortable in other's company? That frosty demeanour would stop most people in their tracks but the little blonde girl seemed to be well able for him.

"Elena's here and she was just telling me all about her last fitting! Meg, you would not believe the trouble we had trying to find -"

Erik watched as Rosa took Meg by the arm and led her into the house to join the beaming bride-to-be. At that moment Bella came rushing out dressed in her birthday finery complete with long ribbons in her hair.

"Signor Erik! You came to my party! But you missed all the games. We had 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' but the boys kept moving the donkey and I was blindfolded so I got dizzy and fell down."

Erik bent down to match the little girl's height. "Perhaps I should have come earlier...then I could have assisted you." Were all little boys that mean? Had he been? No. That would have required him being a child to begin with and he didn't think he had _ever_ been that carefree. _Don't poison her day with thoughts of your miserable past, just give her the gift and make her smile._

"Someone told me it was your birthday so I believe this is for you." With a flourish he pulled the package he had been hiding from behind his back and presented it to her, holding his breath as she took it.

Bella's eyes widened in surprise as she took the heavy white parcel from his hands. "What _is_ it?"

"I have absolutely no idea. Why don't you open it and see?" Erik smiled at the pointless question, for if he told her then the oh-so-important element of surprise would be lost and Meg would kill him. He waited nervously as she pulled the silken bow undone and peeled back the delicate tissue to reveal the unmistakeable leather case beneath. His nerves dissipated as he saw the realisation and the accompanying joy on her face as she popped the clasps to reveal the treasure inside.

"Oh! It came true, it really _did_! How did you _know_? You must be magic!" Bella barely touched the honey coloured wood of the small violin and then launched herself at Erik with such a force that he almost fell backwards. Tiny arms wound round his neck and her head found the hollow between his chin and his shoulder. Astonished at her sudden outpouring of affection, he felt he should somehow reciprocate and gingerly placed both hands at her back. He had no idea what she meant, what he was supposed to have known, what came true or why on earth she thought he was magic but in that second he almost believed that he was.

* * *

Meg put down the tea she had been handed in the kitchen, breaking away from mother and daughter and walked to the back door that led to the courtyard. Erik had not followed them inside and she was mindful of the fact that this was probably a little awkward for him. She didn't want him to feel abandoned but Rosa had commandeered her for talk of tulle and favours and she had followed like a sheep. Now she saw with eyes that filled too quickly, the two dark heads together in the courtyard. He had obviously given Bella her gift and she had obviously liked it for she had him in the grips of a hug the like of which she knew Erik had never experienced before. The kind only a child could give. She tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat and banish the thoughts that the image had conjured in her mind. He was unknowingly effortless with Bella and suspected that the little girl would be no exception. _Stop it Meg, don't go there._

She started as she felt someone behind her then relaxed as she realised it was only Marcello, greeting her with a warm smile and squeezing her arms as he kissed both cheeks.

"Signorina, you bring us more sunshine every day with your smile! I see you brought the sad Signor with you today...and he is being smothered by my daughter. Perhaps I should go rescue him?"

Meg smiled wryly. "The Signor rarely needs rescuing and could probably do with being smothered by your adorable daughter a little more. He has not had much exposure to children but they seem to take to him all the same. Perhaps though he would appreciate some male company? I am all he has to talk to most days and I'm sure I get on his nerves."

"Somehow I doubt that you do." Marcello pinched her cheek and with a backward wink shuffled past her into the courtyard where she could see Erik finally extricating himself from Bella's clutches while she in turn held up her birthday present for her father to admire.

* * *

"You know you are my daughter's hero Signor? She never stops speaking of you and how you talk to her like she is all grown up – you have a champion for life in her." Marcello liked the Signorina's strange friend even though he always seemed aloof and standoffish. He was a hit with his little girl and took the time to listen to her and that meant everything in his book.

"I only speak to her as I would to anyone else. She is a very special child and a rare gift." Erik's heart swelled as he remembered the feel of her unhesitant little arms around his neck, giving him an unasked for moment of pure joy. He felt like a tiny piece of the darkness inside him had been eradicated by the very fact that someone so small and innocent should come to him and give him affection so readily.

"That she is, but aren't they all?"

Erik could only nod vaguely at the older man while his mind taunted the opposite. _No. Not all. I may have been rare but never a gift. Not to anyone and least of all to the woman who bore me. _

His destructive, spiralling thoughts were interrupted by the emergence of the ladies from the house and the arrival of the Pellizzari's son, Federico. He couldn't help the tension that crept into his jaw at the sight of the smiling, bright eyed young man. His eye narrowed and tracked hawk like on the man as he planted a noisy kiss on his mother's cheek and then swept his eldest sister into a twirl. Round and round he swung the girl that looked so much like Christine. And with her hair caught up like that and Federico twirling her just so...it could have been the opera house roof.

Fresh pain delivered straight into his veins at the memory of the hurtful words s used to betray him that night under the stars. Hidden behind the huge bronze angel he had heard every word.

"_So distorted, so deformed, it was hardly a face..."_

He was almost glad he had heard even though it gutted his soul to know how Christine really thought of him, after everything he had given her. The knowledge was useless to him when the pain was sharp and new but now he used it, now it helped him understand a little more each day that she was never for him and never would be. He was also grateful that he was in possession of the more important fact that not _everyone_ thought as she had. Meg for one. Bella for another and although she had never actually _seen_ his ruined face, she believed that the angels had loved him too much.

"Signor? Have I lost you already! Those women never stop about that confounded wedding and if I am honest I cannot wait for it to be over."

Marcello had raised his voice slightly to pull Erik from the trance he had gone into and he now noticed that Bella had become the object of her brother's affections. The three women were huddled in the corner in the shade of the pergola, heads together and twittering like birds at a fountain.

"They must have a lot to talk about, dresses and such. I suspect Meg is revelling in being a part of it." He would never begrudge her the chance to spend time with the Pellizzari women as there were likely things she couldn't talk to him about, things that she would have shared with her mother or her best friend. While he wouldn't mind listening to anything she had to say he sincerely doubted she would want to regale _him_ with details of bonnets or corsetry, though he could doubtless make a far better stab of altering the latter than any of the three assembled females.

Marcello didn't miss how the serious Frenchman had referred to his young companion. It was entirely familiar but tallied with what Rosa had told him about the real reason the two had left Paris. The poor man. He knew just how it was and hoped, indeed believed that the little blonde would rain sunshine on him just as she was doing now with his entire family.

"If I hear about sugared almonds or processional music once more I will have to leave the country!" Marcello exclaimed in mock disgust then added gravely, "It cannot be easy for you listening to all of this talk of weddings considering..."

_What! _Had Meg told him the story she had re-fabricated? Was he to be a figure of sympathy and pity to everyone? Erik's gaze narrowed on the group of three women and felt more than a little irritated at cutting such a pathetic figure. He was sick of it.

"She told you then...about Paris?" Erik ground out the words through gritted teeth.

Marcello observed the tall, broad figure beside him visibly gain in height and noticed his stare boring a hole in the side of the Signorina's head. He also noted _her_ instant awareness of it and the questioning eyebrow she sent him in return.

"_She_ did not betray you Signor" Marcello stated gently, "Rosa told me; we _are_ married you know. It is nothing to be ashamed of either; it happens to the best of us I'm afraid."

"It does?" Incredulous that Marcello could have any concept of what he had gone through, he realised that of course he was only party to a much edited version of the truth. He also felt guilty having wrongly accused Meg; he should know better by now.

"Would it surprise you to know that Rosa was not my first choice? Oh yes, my heart had already been trampled by another before I finally met her and though she was not my first love, the fact that she is my _last_ love is what really matters, don't you think? Because Signor, when I am on my deathbed it is the woman I lived my life with, who bore my children and held my hand though all the good and bad times who I will take with me in my heart, not the one who first broke it." If he could give this strange man a little hope that all was not lost, that life didn't end, that he could find happiness again then he would do it, especially if it put a smile on the Signorina's face.

Stunned into silence by the jolly Italian's confession, Erik could only nod quietly at the other man. He seemed to sense his unease because he turned his attention to the interaction between his youngest daughter and his son, leaving him to his thoughts.

Marcello couldn't know all that he had been through. He hadn't taken a life or burned the only home he had known to the ground, yet he shared something real in common with him. He had loved and lost. And then unbelievably, he had loved again! Of course his _own_ situation was entirely different. Marcello did not have a face that terrified, two murders weighing on his conscience or a past forged in despair and littered with horrors. That would certainly tip the scales in the Italian's favour.

He didn't know if he would be able to expose his heart and soul to that kind of torture again even knowing that others had done it and survived. Who was he fooling? He had only _ever_ loved from afar, through a mirror; abusing his position abominably. He finally realised his intended had had no real choice in the matter. What did _he_ know of what Marcello spoke, what he shared with Rosa – a life lived together with children between them? What kind of life could he have given Christine? Had he even thought about what he would do if she had stayed?

Not for one second had he dwelled on the reality of what happened after, how the actual particulars of sharing his life with someone would play out. He supposed it was testament to his mental state near the end that he had forgone his habitual meticulous planning. He had neglected to plan the most important part; the happy ever after. Except it wouldn't have been. He would always know how Christine really felt about his face and that the real reason she had stayed was pity. That knowledge would have truly broken him, no matter how much he knew he would have tried to ignore it. Her pity had unmanned him in the worst possible way and he hated it. Pity meant being seen for what he wasn't rather than what he was, what he was lacking not what he had. It was a most destructive emotion doled out freely in glances cast by people he passed on the street who could not possibly understand. How utterly ridiculous it all seemed now! What was he thinking? How could anyone live like he had?

Not for him that normal dream that Marcello spoke of. It was as unattainable as the lost side of his face. Who would he take with him in his heart when he breathed his last? He only knew now that he didn't want it to be Christine, he didn't want her to be all he _could _take with him.

* * *

Meg couldn't understand what had brought out the Phantom but he had crashed Bella's party all the same. She had felt the hair stand to attention on the back of her neck under the gaze she knew would be smouldering out of his left eye. Had Marcello said something to upset him? Seconds after she had looked over in concern his face had relaxed once more and she felt able to breathe again. Did he have any idea how obvious it was when he _did_ that? She had been giving Elena a detailed account of her recent trip to Signora Villani's workrooms when she had felt the change in his mood but fortunately her two companions didn't seem to notice and Marcello had just handed him a glass of wine so she supposed all was right in his world again.

Now Bella was shrieking in excitement as her brother picked her up and whirled her around above his head, her ribbons flying out behind her. No sooner had he put her back on her feet than she evaded capture and darted off across the courtyard, running behind Marcello for sanctuary.

Meg noticed Erik watching the little girl's antics in wonder and silently cursed the powers that be for what he had been denied.

Federico was being the proper brother, letting her evade him just as he caught up to her each time. Now she saw her come charging at full speed towards them and Rosa and Elena had obviously been party to this game before because they quickly stood aside leaving her open to Bella's attack. As the little girl spun round her skirts she saw Federico stalking towards her and his prey in a slow deliberate way that was eliciting further shrieks from Bella who was hiding behind her. She assumed he would just chase around her to catch his sister but instead he kept coming towards her, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Grinning cockily from ear to ear he came to a halt not a foot in front of her and barely registered the little person bouncing with excitement behind her.

"Signorina, I believe you have something for me?" Federico let the words fall slowly from his mouth, dripping with innuendo.

Meg swallowed nervously at the not altogether innocent words – he was being blatantly suggestive! She felt the dangerous shift from child's game to something a little more serious and didn't quite know how to react. He had always been so casually friendly and she didn't want to hurt or offend the young man, yet any sign of capitulation on her part could be misconstrued.

From across the courtyard Erik had watched indulgently as little Bella had dodged her brother, moving with the agility of any child her age. It had been bittersweet to see the affection between the two even if for this game they were sworn enemies – captor and prisoner. But his grudging respect for the Pellizzari heir ground to an abrupt halt as he watched in horror as he decided to use the harmless game for less altruistic purposes.

_Damn him!_ Erik recognised the Meg's awkward shrug, subtly twisting her body away from the Italian. He knew enough about body language to know for certain that the younger man's attentions were unasked for.

_Get AWAY from her!_

If that snivelling little gondola-poling rat laid so much as a finger on her he would rip his digits out. Clenching his fists so his knuckles cracked and gnashing his teeth until his jaw ached, he prepared to unleash the Phantom.

* * *

A/N: Cliffie! Sorry guys, had to do it.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N Well it seems my muse came to stay this time! This is a mammoth chapter and was only supposed to be a little inbetweeny one before Ch22 (you'll find out soon enough!) EVIL SMIRK. Anyway, it's pretty long but ALOT needed to happen here to clear the way for what comes next. Enjoy and keep the reviews coming.

* * *

Chapter 21

Meg's stomach lurched in horror as she witnessed the transformation taking place for all to see over Federico's shoulder, instantly recognising all the signs of the Phantom, positively murderous and poised to strike at the least provocation. And Marcello was right beside him!

_No! Not here!_

The look he was singeing the back of Federico's head with was not one she had seen before and one she hoped never to be on the receiving end of. It was terrifyingly intense, white hot and totally unlike the mesmerising Phantom of San Marco and her mother's bedroom and all the other times she had seen him manifest OG before. That was like a tidal wave of warmth that almost poured over her and was not in the least malevolent; it did dangerous things to her heart but was hardly life threatening. But _this_...this spoke of vengeance and barely restrained violence. It reminded her of the little boys that sat out in the courtyards behind the Populaire in the sun, training a spectacle lens on an unsuspecting insect. It was focused and deadly. Perhaps Buquet had seen it just before the Opera Ghost snuffed him out. She shuddered to think of anything like that happening again and for something so trivial – just a young man trying his luck! She couldn't let it happen; she had to help him find a way out because somehow she knew he wouldn't be able to stop.

_Erik NO! Think Meg, THINK!_

Rolling one shoulder as if to cast off the unwelcome attentions of the Italian, she quickly groped behind her for Bella's hand. Before the little girl could react, she drew her around in front of her and propelled her forward into her brother's arms taking a step back as she did so.

"I surrender the prisoner Signore, she is all yours!" Guiltily she mouthed her apology to the little girl who was now squirming theatrically in Federico's clutches completely oblivious to the altercation above her head and the deadly intent emanating from her hero on the other side of the courtyard.

Unfortunately her actions had forced Federico to take a step back also and that only brought him closer to his impending doom. Erik was practically salivating now as the Italian obliviously inched closer, his fists pumping at his sides and his left eye narrowing like a lion lining up a hapless gazelle for dinner. _For goodness sake this is Venice not the Serengeti!_

Marcello had become aware of the change in him too, unable to keep the alarm showing on his face as he stared worriedly at Erik and then back to Meg. He would be just the sort to try and help she thought but if he tried to intervene God only knew what would happen! Meg could only shake her head and toss it to the side motioning for him to move away. He looked a little confused but shrugged in response as if to say "I hope you know what you're doing" then nodded in assent and reluctantly did as she suggested, making his way gingerly back over to his wife and elder daughter. Hopefully the fact that they all thought Erik was decidedly odd would stand to him now and they would chalk it up to nothing more than him being eccentric and overly protective of his friend's daughter.

Now she understood how everything had gotten so out of hand in Paris. She could imagine Erik was unstoppable when he was like this and it was suddenly clear to her how volatile he would have been over the woman he believed he loved; he thought he had been protecting what he considered his. What was his excuse today? It was just her and a young Italian who smiled a bit too much...even if he did make her feel slightly uneasy when he looked at her in that direct way.

Even though Federico was now more than three feet away from her and not even looking in her direction anymore, caught up as he was with Bella's wriggling and accompanying shrieks of mock terror, Erik's arrow like stare stalked his every movement. She had to distract him or he would do something he would forever regret. Catching Erik's eye was proving difficult as all of his attention was focused intently and deliberately on the young man standing in front of her. She couldn't let him get out of hand, not here, not in front of Bella. His protective instinct had kicked in instantly and she knew he would not stop to think of consequences if he thought she was in danger. But she wasn't. She was perfectly capable of dealing with the situation and had done so quite admirably she thought. It wasn't Paris, _she_ wasn't Christine. Erik _should_ be able to see that but then he was reacting as if she had been all but molested in broad daylight. Everything about him was all or nothing. He was incapable of subtlety at any time when he wasn't playing his precious violin.

_I'll kill him...I'll wring the presumptuous little weasel's impudent, scheming neck! It stops NOW!_

Erik's violent intentions were only fuelling the elevated heartbeat that forced his blood pounding through his veins causing bright spots to dance in front of the only eye he could see out of. A white hot rage flowed to every nerve ending making his skin itch and crawl. For a split second he chanced a glance past his prey to Meg and found her eyes seeking his, beseeching him. Somewhat lightheaded from the ferocity of the anger inside him, it took a second for him to register the silent plea and then he was caught.

_Finally! _

Holding his gaze Meg shook her head a fraction, imperceptible to all but Erik and held up her right hand, palm forward as discreetly as possible.

_Don't_.

It was bad enough Marcello had seen his rage without everyone figuring out that she was having to talk him down. She would not do that to him. Fortunately they were all standing behind her now under the pergola – except for Bella and her brother who were still oblivious – so they could only see Erik.

Responding to his confused frown and questioning eyebrow she smiled softly, hoping he would understand her meaning.

_I'm alright. _

She nodded and smiled again making sure he understood.

_Focus on me, nothing else._

It wouldn't do to confuse him at this delicate juncture.

_Really, I'm alright...let it go._

For good measure she took an obvious breath and exhaled slowly, nodding and smiling again.

_That's it, breathe with me. _

Slowly she began to walk towards him. She hadn't been this nervous since the first night she met him – the lion with the thorn. She felt like she was approaching that same wild animal and if she flinched he would pounce. She was damned if she would be the one to look away and betray weakness; the state he was in at the moment required that she be the strong one and she would not let him down.

Taking his cue from Meg, Erik slowly unfurled his fists but still remained in a state of alert should he need to move quickly. His arms and legs tingled from the venom running through his system and he had to blink several times to clear his vision of the white spots that had danced across his eyes. She seemed to be alright, having called a halt to the little rat's subterfuge herself and now she was effectively transmitting silent instructions across the courtyard to him. She was telling him to breathe so he did, strangely powerless to do anything but what she commanded. Slowly and deliberately he dragged in a lungful of air and then shakily let it out again. The more she nodded and smiled the more he breathed until gradually the tingling and dizziness began to recede somewhat. She had stepped back from where Bella stood trapped in her brother's arms and started to move slowly across to him, keeping eye contact all the while, not that he felt able to look away. As she came closer he felt the calm wash over him in gentle waves, smoothing the tension and cooling his blood. It would be alright now.

Incredibly Erik seemed to be obeying her as if in a trance. Meg was desperately relieved it was working and equally fascinated that she had found _that_ kind of power inside her. She had actually held back the Phantom! Of course if she hadn't caught his eye then she dreaded to think what kind of epic disaster could have unfolded. She liked to think he wouldn't have gone so far as to act on the possibly murderous thoughts she suspected had been swirling inside him but she just couldn't be sure and didn't really want to test him. _I suppose it means he cares in some way. Otherwise he wouldn't give a fig who made overtures in my direction_. But perhaps it was some sort of loyalty to her mother. She didn't care. Even though he could get more than a little intimidating she still felt a little fizz of pleasure that the Phantom came out just for her benefit and even more so that she managed to stand against the powerful combination of emotions that comprised him.

"M..Meg?" Erik had not seen anything to the left or right of her head since she had first sent that silent request and he was still trapped in her eyes like the proverbial moth dancing about a flame. She placed her hand at his elbow and he felt her sure touch dilute some of the dizziness and it was like a soothing balm to the madness coursing through him, much like the cool cloth she had used on his face the night of the fire. She leaned in close and stood on her toes so she could speak without being heard by anyone else.

"It's alright now Sir Galahad. You can stand down; call your armies off. The dragon has been slain! You are terrifying when you get like that you know, but I understand. I'm touched...really. You didn't need to go _quite_ that far though."

"But he was –" He didn't think she understood at _all_ since he barely understood it himself. He only knew that his blood boiled when that _youth_ looked at her. He found himself grinding his teeth again at the unmitigated nerve of it.

"He was just trying his luck and he failed as he was always going to. Thank you though; it's nice to know you would step in if I needed you." She pulled him into motion beside her and began to walk him towards the opposite end of the pergola away from the assembled Pellizzari's. Not quite a white knight but close enough...his heart was in the right place. She had always though the white ones were boring anyhow.

So, she had no interest in the cocky Italian or his ready smiles? Or his sun kissed, smooth, regular features? "I would have hurt him." He still might. _God I'm dizzy!_

"I know but you didn't. Why don't we go into the shade? It's stifling out here and I really think I ought to sit down." She did need to sit but Erik looked like _he_ would fall over if she let go of his arm having expended a huge amount of energy just being ominous.

* * *

From underneath the pergola just outside their back door, Rosa and Marcello exchanged a combination of worried and knowing looks. Rosa had seen the look on the Signore's face when her son had gotten a bit too close to his young companion and correctly interpreted it as far more than the concern he _should_ have as her pseudo guardian. It was blatant male jealousy and as vivid a green as any she had ever seen. She had expected it and yet it was so frighteningly intense that she began to worry that maybe things might get nasty.

Her son had an easy manner and like his father, loved and appreciated women. He was young, handsome and very charming and unfortunately he assumed everyone else thought so too. He had been completely unaware of the undisguised threat being sent him by the Signore and perhaps it was just as well. He would only shrug and laugh it off, probably saying something like "you win some, you lose some." Somehow she didn't think the older man would appreciate his making light of the situation as he himself was taking it very seriously indeed. Federico would learn soon enough. Some young girl would break his heart and he would know to be a bit more cautious and discriminating with his attentions.

She didn't even think he would be too bothered that the little blonde had no interest. He was far too forgiving to take any offence and would be quick to find another pretty signorina to smile at. He would never have done for her anyhow. Although much younger she was wise beyond her years and would have run rings around him and poor Federico was so eager to please she would be bored stiff within a week! She needed someone to challenge her; someone to fight with. Rosa studied the pair now seated close together in the shade at the opposite end of the pergola and marvelled at the effect the young woman seemed to have on Signore Erik. Where only minutes earlier he had been tense with passionate anger; now he appeared to have relaxed somewhat and was hanging on her every word like drops of rain after a drought. Whatever cloud they had left Paris under may yet turn out to have a silver lining. She spotted her youngest child, the birthday girl and motioned her into the house in front of her. "Piccola I think it's time our guests had some of your cake, don't you? Will you take it out to them?"

* * *

"Sir Galahad always had a _white_ horse Meg, representing his purity of heart and such. I would never have a white horse; it would be ridiculous in the extreme. However I appreciate the analogy, however inaccurate."

"I know. I couldn't see it either...the horse I mean. Big and black with a glossy mane is more your style. I picked Galahad because I never really took to Lancelot – he just pined after Guinevere all the time. Galahad went off in search of the Grail. He had adventures and wasn't afraid...like you." The more she kept him talking the more he would calm down but did she really need to gush so much? She would have to be more careful or her stupid mouth would get her into trouble.

The way Erik saw it he had been closer to Lancelot, with Christine in the role of Guinevere and if he was perfectly honest he had deeply appreciated Meg not making the more obvious comparison. He didn't want to be that person anymore. Instead she had cast him as either adventurous or fearless or both. Either way it was further testament to the fact that she seemed to see something in him that neither he nor anyone else ever had. Galahad's quest was always for the Grail but who was to say what or who _his_ Holy Grail was? And he would like a big black horse...perhaps when he found somewhere bigger.

Just then Bella appeared, walking very slowly while trying to carefully balance two china plates. She stopped just short of Meg and handed her the one in her left hand. "This is my birthday cake so you have to eat it. Papa made it just the way I like it and decorated the top with a butterfly all in icing." She handed the other plate to Erik saying "I made sure that you had some of the butterfly on yours but there was only a little piece of wing left. The stupid boys ate all the pretty bits, even the curly feelers and they were the nicest." She stuck out her lip in disgust and clasped her hands behind her back, watching him carefully.

Erik took the plate reverently and held it to eye level trying to spot the wing she referred to. It killed him that she had wanted _him_ of all people to have some of the decorated part of the cake, like she had singled him out for special treatment. "Thank you Bella, the wings are actually the best part for without them how could it fly?"

Meg almost choked on her cake. How in the devil did he always know just what to say to the little girl? He really had no clue how much Bella adored him. That wasn't all he was clueless about, she thought miserably. _And let it stay that way Meg._ Determined not to fall into a blue humour she turned to Bella who was now grinning from ear to ear in the warmth of Erik's last words. "Did you blow out all your candles at once and make a wish?" It was the stuff of childhood, the part where you felt as if for that one day in the year that was yours, anything was possible if you only just wished it.

"Yes I did and no one helped me either." Twisting from side to side making the skirts of her party dress flare out, she inched a little closer to Erik.

What was this about wishes? More strange candle magic. Again he thought about Meg's little ritual. "What did you wish for?" He was intrigued as to what someone of her size could possibly want.

"Erik! You can't ask her that! It won't come true if she tells." Meg shook her head in astonishment and then remembered he wouldn't have known that. Her heart was breaking for all the tiny things she had always taken for granted; little things that made an otherwise tedious life bearable, none of which he had experienced.

Bella was bouncing up and down clapping her hands and had managed to get as close to Erik as she could without actually sitting on his lap. How did she do it? "I can tell, I can tell. It already came true so I can tell. " She paused for effect and then continued excitedly," I wished to be big enough to play the violin aaand ...he made it come _true_! He's magic you know!"

_Oh I know._ Her stupid virgin heart would be in shreds if she kept this up. Erik looked as if he'd lost the power of speech again and actually on the verge of tears. It was quite wonderful watching the effect the little girl had on him, able to completely turn him inside out with very little effort. It was good for him.

* * *

Meg had stayed back to help Rosa clear up after the party but she had insisted Erik go back up to their rooms. Somehow she must have known he had had enough; not that he hadn't felt honoured to be asked to the little girl's birthday but it was more people than he had ever interacted with at the same time. His head was spinning and he still felt residually weakened after the debacle with the rodent. He felt his fingers making an involuntary fist at the memory and willed himself to breathe more slowly. Erik couldn't remember the last time he had had those white spots in his eyes – the New Year's Masquerade? When he smashed his last mirror in his old home?

It hardly mattered except that they differed from this. Today he had not gone on to wreak havoc as was his wont when this monster choked all reason out of him. Something rather unexpected had happened out there in the sunshine that prevented him from self destruction.

_Meg._

In the few short hours after it had happened she had quite expertly distracted him to the extent that he hadn't even given it another thought; he had just been grateful not to feel so dizzy anymore. Now he was calmer, his thoughts joined up again as much as they ever were and he was coming round to the full realisation of what she had managed to accomplish. No one had _ever_ crossed swords with the Phantom before. No one had dared! At some point in the red mist that had descended she had reached through and taken hold of him. She may as well have taken his hand because he had followed where she had led. How had she done it? How had she managed to break in and catch him before he fell?

Was it simply that he trusted her? He had known for a long time that she would keep him and his secrets safe but perhaps today she had required that he prove it and somehow he felt that must be the difference. She had gone far and beyond what he thought her capable of and when her eyes told him it was safe to jump, that she would break his fall; he had. And she had done it in such a way that no one but he knew what was really happening, who was really responsible, using every bit of subtlety and nuance she had in her dancer's arsenal to speak to him. That was the part that had him coming apart at the seams. She had come to his aid without betraying him to the others so to all assembled it looked as if he had kept his head together after all. In gaining admittance to his darker side she had won something from him that he had never in his life given to anyone, something that no one had ever come close to earning – power over him; the kind that only came from complete trust and an absence of fear. He hadn't been afraid to let her in and she hadn't been afraid to approach. The fact of her astonishing bravery was no small thing either; he was under no illusions as to how terrifying he could make himself. Wasn't that how he had managed to control his world for so long? But she hadn't been afraid. That must be it then. He had given her the power.

Her eyes had trapped him, held him and guided him until she had taken his arm and kept him from falling. Those beautiful warm eyes the colour of almond shells had seen right inside him, down to the cage where he had been trapped. She had picked the lock and walked him right past the guards. There should have been a Lady Galahad for she was surely she. Today she had become his heroine and consequently the only woman in his life he had ever looked up to. Her name alone spoke a hundred different things to him. She ate with him, listened to him, tolerated his odd moods, helped him reason when he could not, drew him out and let him be. She wrapped her arms around him and let him cry for everything he had lost and all he had never had and she never made him feel less of a man for it. And there it was. He felt like a man and she helped him do it.

Today he had seen red. The reason was of course the Italian. But why? He could pretend it was some sort of valiant effort to secure Meg's honour on behalf of her mother. He didn't believe he had thought about Antoinette much and when he thought of everything that had happened over the past weeks...the dome, the dreams, the drawings that littered his room and that damned rose oil that permeated his clothes every time he used the bath in her room... No when he joined them all up together it made an odd sort of sense now. He had seen red because he hadn't wanted Federico near her and he hadn't wanted him near her because...

_Oh you fool! She's Lady Galahad for goodness sake; pure, honourable and totally deserving of a white horse._ In fact when he found somewhere bigger to live he was going to get her one.

* * *

"Is the Signore alright?" Rosa probed gently, passing a teacup from the basin to Meg who was waiting to dry it.

"Of course, just a little drained I think. He has a finite level of tolerance for being among so many people! Don't take it personally; he's just... not used to socialising much." _At all in fact. _Meg had stayed back to help but also to give Erik a little breathing space on his own away from everyone. Things had gotten a little out of hand and no doubt he would be obsessing over every little detail. It never ceased to amaze her how much thinking he seemed to do and would swear she could hear the cogs in his brain whirring away even from this distance.

"He didn't seem to like our Federico getting too close earlier. A betting man might have said he was jealous!" Rosa knew exactly where she was putting her money but she wasn't altogether sure the Signorina could see it. Most didn't when it was right under their nose. She passed another plate out of the hot suds.

"Oh what nonsense! If you had seen the one he left behind you wouldn't think that – she actually looks remarkably like Elena in fact. It is far more likely an abject terror of my mother who is quite formidable. She would probably not approve of anyone paying me particular attention and since he feels responsible for me he gives himself the role of my gallant protector."

"Hmm." Constant reminders of the one who shunned him in the shape of her daughter? Well that explained the odd wistful look earlier when her son had been twirling Elena round like a pair of children on May Day. How painful for him and yet perhaps cathartic? And it certainly didn't look anything like protectiveness when Federico almost had his hair burnt from his head. That was possessiveness if ever she saw it. She was prevented from delving further into these delicious new developments by her elder daughter who had come into the kitchen flapping a piece of paper back and forth in her hand.

"Mama, this is addressed to Signorina Meg? When did it arrive?"

"Oh goodness, it came on Friday but with it being our busiest day and then Bella's party to sort I completely forgot it!" Mortified at the oversight, she took it from Elena and passed it over to the signorina who was drying off her hands on a tea towel.

"Don't worry about it Rosa, you've had your hands full all weekend I imagine. It's from my mother in Paris. Do you mind if I go and read it?" She was dying for news and had been watching daily for any communication from her.

"Of course you must, I'll finish up here. Elena, take her towel and help me finish!"

Before she could leave the younger woman piped up, looking like she had been itching to say something to her for a while.

"Signorina do you think...I mean Bella thought he might and Mama and Papa say he's very talented but maybe he wouldn't..." Elena trailed off nervously, wringing the towel in her fingers.

Meg saw she was struggling to find the right words and seemed to be talking herself out of whatever she wanted to say." What is it Elena? I assume you mean Signore Erik?" Meg had a sneaking suspicion where this was leading.

* * *

Erik looked up from his violin at the sound of the patio door opening. He had taken her out to clean her, a gentle task that always calmed him. Meg!

"Only me! Maman's written - It came on Friday but they were all so busy..." She flicked the little packet as she whirled around him to pull out the chair opposite to him at the table and sat down.

More news of Paris...and consequently Christine. He frowned deeply remembering the last disturbing missive from his lost angel, alluding to dangerous dabblings with things she knew not of. "What does she say?"

"Well I haven't opened it yet silly! Oh by the way, how is your Bach?" She nodded pointedly to the instrument he was caressing in smooth circles with a soft cloth.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Erik enquired haughtily. _Honestly!_

Could his eyebrow possibly get any higher? _Really!_ She hadn't meant any offence but she refused to assume anything where he was concerned.

"Well...Elena was wondering if perhaps you might do her the honour of playing something in the church? Of course if you don't feel up to it I completely understand." Meg let her words sink in, especially the suggestion that he might cry off. He was far too proud and she was counting on that even if it _was_ a little out of his comfort zone. Registering the perplexed look on his face and leaving him to ponder on it, she ripped open the envelope and settled in her chair to read what her mother had to say.

_Ma fille chérie_

_Oh where do I begin! Well I suppose I should start by telling you that Christine has been – several times. I gave her your rabbit as requested. She visits always with the Vicomte and his sister and each occasion becomes more trying than the last. Oh you know I love her like another daughter but really the incessant questions as to your whereabouts are beginning to grate. I, of course passed on your letter to her and yet she still seems unwilling to accept your absence. Eleanore's story has grown wings at this point. On the point of her mental state – well all I can say is this. She trails around behind her new constant companion – Violette , the Vicomte's sister – with a vacant stare that can only be the result of this medication you spoke of. Her hands seem to shake constantly and she jumps at the slightest noise. And only yesterday I found her in Carlotta's old dressing room staring into the mirror. Goodness knows where she would have ended up if I hadn't spotted the door ajar – she can only have gotten the key from my bureau and that's not like her either. _

Meg chewed her lip. Christine really wasn't coping at all and those drugs were obviously making it worse! She had gone rummaging for Maman's keys too which spoke of desperation, never mind what she thought she would accomplish by staring at the mirror. Oh Christine! Her poor, fragile friend.

_The harassed Vicomte has seemingly very little time to spend with her as the tribulations here keep most of his attention. Just after your letter arrived – that very day in fact – saw the departure of Messieurs André and Firmin. _

About time too! That pair had no clue about how things worked in her world.

_They had to be paid off of course but it was the only way, the Vicomte insisted that the deadlock would be broken and work could begin. If only Lefevre would come back things might have a chance of getting back to something resembling normal. In the meantime I have been entrusted with keeping an eye on whatever work crews have been contracted to repair the stage and auditorium in addition to having eyes in the back of my head where the rest of the staff are concerned; it appears I am now all things to all people. _

Oh Maman – you cannot do everything. Who looks after you? If she was there she could at least have helped keep an eye on the ballet corps.

_Unfortunately we have lost some of our best to the competition and not just the performers. Wardrobe assistants, fly boys, wigmakers, half of the orchestra although M. Reyer is still with us, set painters...all leaving in their droves thanks to this nonsense with the managers. They would not agree terms with the patron so he withheld the vast sums needed for the refurbishment. They in turn would not pay the staff - the managers have always been in control of the wages account – and people cannot live on promises alone. I tried my best to convince as many as I could to stay but with limited effect and it will cost twice as much to get the best of them back. Now there is some ridiculous legal tangle over the accounts which apparently cannot be accessed without both of our dearly departed manager's signatures and goodness knows where they have fled to. It is a mess._

Why can't Raoul pay the staff? The place might as well close if all the staff leave! Some of them had been there their whole lives.

_I don't suppose you realise how fortunate you are to be away from all of this. I cannot have slept more than four hours a night since the fire and I do not see it improving. _

_You mentioned in your last letter that you had been entrusted with the full disclosure of what happened? You must know it all then. I had hoped you would remain innocent of such awful things for a little longer but we cannot always have what we wish for, can we? Maybe you are a stronger woman than I to be able to handle such dark complexities – perhaps I raised you better than I had imagined. I assume you are both well and no doubt looking forward to your neighbour's wedding –Elena wasn't it? How odd that she looks like Christine; I can't imagine the look on our friend's face when that discovery was made. On that subject – she hasn't given me anything to send to you this time but then I did not mention it when I last saw her. If she does drop something off, I will send it on of course. Perhaps you could think about coming for a visit sometime soon, especially if things are a little more stable at your end..._

_Bisous_

_Maman_

Goodness! Obviously things had gotten decidedly more desperate back home. Meg leaned back in her chair and stretched, unable to keep the wrinkle of worry from her forehead.

"What is it? Trouble in Paris?" Although could it be anything else? He had caused the most of it.

"Well you might be glad to know Firmin and André have left – the Vicomte paid them off because they couldn't resolve their differences and everyone was suffering as a result. Now though, Maman seems to be overseeing things but there's still some sort of problem with the accounts because the managers are the only ones who can access them. A lot of staff have already left."

Hmm. Perhaps de Chagny wasn't such an idiot after all. The place was certainly better off without them but though Antoinette was more capable than most men she still wouldn't be able to manage everything on her own...and with no money coming in as presumably the patron was only paying for the rebuild? They only ever funded the bigger stars, new sets, promotion and such so this was not a surprise to him yet what was a refurbished opera house with no staff?

"That's no great loss. They hadn't the first clue how to run a theatre. Was that all she had to say?" He would be lying if he thought he wasn't hoping for news of Christine but surprisingly he found it was more to do with his concern over how she was being looked after rather than any more pointless yearnings.

There was nothing in the letter he couldn't know, apart from the mirror. She didn't think he particularly needed to hear that. "No, as a matter of fact she has seen Christine several times and agrees that she's not well at all. She asked if I would come home to visit soon. She can't possibly manage on her own and Christine is seemingly more and more agitated regarding my whereabouts. I might be able to help her more if I was there." She hadn't really thought about it having had little time to digest the letter before Erik began to question her but it was becoming a distinct possibility. Just a few weeks perhaps. She was reluctant to leave him but he would be alright, especially with Rosa and Bella to keep an eye on him.

Selfishly Erik hoped she would do no such thing. How would he cope without her? Of course her first duty was to her mother and her friend obviously but still. _He_ could help Antoinette; he certainly had the wherewithal and he hated the thought of anyone else losing their livelihood because of him. It was time to begin to put things right. "If you must go then I suppose -"

Meg recognised the sulking for exactly what it was and resolved to ignore it. She would miss him if she went home but he would surely survive for a few weeks and then she would be back again.

"Perhaps, but not until after the wedding; there's no way I'm missing that. Now tell me, are you going to play for Elena?"

"Did she have any particular request?" Lifting his violin and putting the cloth back in the case Erik waited for instructions. He still couldn't get his head around being asked in the first place. Obviously what had happened earlier hadn't damaged their opinion of him and that, he knew was all because of Meg so in a way he owed her this.

* * *

Across the courtyard Rosa and Elena Pellizzari were just finishing the last of the dishes when they heard it. Elena dropped her cloth and ran to the back door, a huge smile lighting up her face. "Oh Mama, do you think that means he's going to do it?"

The emotive strains of Bach's Ave Maria poured out of the patio door that Meg had left ajar, and up into the Venetian sky.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Ok 3 things. Firstly apologies for the HUGE delay in getting this out some of which was due to technical difficulties which I won't rant about too much, the rest was due to my Muse legging it on holidays without leaving a note. That brings me nicely to the second thing...a HUGE FF HUG to Ace of Gallifrey without whom this EPIC chapter simply would not have made it whether it be repeated encouragment, reading chunks of it, providing squee when badly needed and lots of ideas so please send some love her way. Thirdly this is a REALLY LONG CHAPTER. You have been warned. I suggest locking the door, switching off your phone, stick on the hot chocolate (or bevvie of choice) and find a blanket to curl up under. It is June 4th 1871 and you know what that means...yup Elena Pellizzari's tying the knot. Enjoy xxx

* * *

_To dance, masked or painted, is to come to know sacredness with more than just eyes or ears, but with all senses of the body and mind operating at the same time. If you want to know the meaning of the mask, you must become masked yourself._

_Terry Tafoya_

Chapter 22

In the days and weeks that followed Bella's party the sun stayed longer and higher and the climbing rose that twined around the patio railings burst into full bloom. It was nearly more than Erik could take, inhaling their pungent aroma made thick and heady by evening, having warmed in the early summer sun all day. Meg was everywhere it seemed. She filled his senses from dawn until dusk and beyond and though unsettling it invigorated him in a way he could not comprehend. His blood fizzed though his veins, his fingers itched to play light-hearted whimsy and they did. The fact that she had seen into the darkest part of him and had wrapped her hands around it gave him hope that perhaps there was a life for him or at least a brighter path than the one he had trodden. She somehow understood, had seen into his murky depths and still she stayed.

His current state of unfamiliar calm mixed with an effervescent nervous energy was alien to him. He had _never_ felt this light and whimsical before, never warm or safe. He had never experienced what it was to close his eyes and eagerly anticipate the moment he would wake, anxious to see what the new day would bring and feeling capable of facing the dark. Always he had feared it; that moment where he lost control, lost consciousness. It had been an enemy that gnawed at him, subjected him to all his insecurities and deepest fears and he had always been powerless to fight it. No, this didn't resemble anything he knew of, anything like before...like Paris. That had been manic, deafening and torrid. It ripped at every fibre of his being and raged like a mythical beast. It had tasted like bitter chocolate, dizzying, addictive and left him with such constant violent headaches that he felt like he would split in two. He rarely slept in those final months and when he did he fell into those dark horrors that terrified him and wrenched him awake in a silent scream for deliverance. The only moments of peace had come when his angel had sung for him and once that was taken away he had never wanted to breathe again.

He had wanted to possess that part of Christine where her voice took flight – her soul. Her instrument had grown from the seed that had always been there but he had nurtured it, moulded it and was poised to take possession of it. He needed it for his own. Its sole purpose was to give life and light to the music he wrote. Her beauty only enhanced it, a beautiful vessel for her soaring gift. He had needed it like a lifeline, the only link from his dark existence to the brightness of life above. She was to be that link but she broke it when she loved another. The blind panic had ripped through him like a wave, desperate to claw back the pieces of her that slipped like sand through his fingers. His power over her was waning and his ownership was being challenged by a young pretender that had no rights to his creation. She had been his. HIS. Then it had become a ferocious battle for the woman and not just her voice. He began to see beyond the beauty inside to the delights without. Sensations long buried and stifled had stirred and awakened, too late to be assuaged. He had always thought of himself as a composer first and foremost but he was bitterly reminded that he was in fact a man. Yet all that she could give him was a kiss before flying away; a kiss that had sealed his dark fate.

He had always somehow assumed that love would be kinder, less brutal but instead it had ripped him to shreds and he never wanted to feel that close to his own death again.

What was this then; this unknown quantity of softness and light that whispered through him? It was not something he could identify, was not what went before. It couldn't be for it felt gentle and quiet. It smelled of fresh roses and lemons and looked like spun gold weaving hypnotically in a thick braid. It was warm liquid eyes that widened when he smiled and narrowed when he teased. Meg was not his, she belonged to herself alone and he found that she didn't need him the way Christine had so it was wholly astonishing to him that she still chose to walk along side him these past months. He knew _he_ needed _her_. Not for his music or to possess her soul but to lean on, to help him live, to understand him. She was vital to his survival but yet he felt no panic to restrain her, to keep her there because _she_ had been the one to take _his_ hand and bring him to a place where he could heal. Meg had never showed him the reflection of his face in hers and for that he would always be eternally thankful. She stood alone in that. Her refusal to pity and draw attention to his defect had forced him to acknowledge that there might be more to him than that. He _wanted_ there to be more to him and somehow she could see it. But what was it? He could find no name to put to it, this indefinable state he had never visited before. Wherever it was he wanted to stay.

The dreams were inconvenient to say the least and they had only intensified in nature and frequency in the past few weeks. Meg would be horrified to know where his nocturnal imaginings had taken him. They were delicious and dangerous, passionate and painful and again reminded him that before anything else he was a man, a man with lamentable urges that shamed him though he was loath to regret the glorious glimpses into another life they afforded him. But there was no place in reality for them or for the form they took in daylight hours. A watered down version of his explicit fantasies normally involved deluding himself that they were just a normal couple living a normal life, a scene of domestic bliss with him in a starring role. It was a pointlessly pathetic exercise.

Not so pathetic were the days that were filled with moments of innocent joy in the shape of Bella and her new violin. She had come several times and was proving to be an effortless student and a breath of fresh air and he seemed to take as much from her little musings on life as she did from his gentle instruction. He had been out in the city without Meg again and each time became a little easier to tolerate. He still abhorred the bustle and crush and it would only get worse as the summer brought more and more tourists but he felt he probably wasn't alone in that; most of his fellow shoppers seemed to carry a tightness about them that indicated they too would prefer more personal space. It only served to highlight the real necessity of a move to somewhere bigger, more secluded where he could feel at ease in his own open spaces and to that end he had already been to an estate agent who was currently working on his particular requirements. He was also able to organise his finances and affaires, make the acquaintance of a solicitor and of course the inevitable visit to a tailor.

He had dreaded _that_ the most but it had proven far less horrific than he had built it up in his mind. The small efficient man with the wire framed glasses had taken his measurements unobtrusively and with minimum fuss and effort and was oblivious to his odd appearance when it came with a very large order. S. Bellini had waxed lyrical with him about the merits of this weight of silk or that fall of linen and was ecstatic at the prospect of providing him with something to attend a masquerade and had to be reigned in when his imagination ran away with him. He had no wish to stand out, only blend in and not let Meg down. On his return he had heard her chattering excitedly in the kitchen with Rosa. Apparently she had just fitted on her new dress and it was "beyond description". She had been trying to decide what mask to pick to go with it and he had had to step in and warn her that it was being taken care of. A quick word in Rosa's ear and he ascertained the colour so he could match it. He tried to ignore the blushing surprise on Meg's face and the undisguised smirk of satisfaction on his landlady's. _What were they up to?_

* * *

Sunday June 4th dawned bright and clear over Venice, heralding a day that any bride would wish for. Meg woke early with the now familiar butterflies already clamouring in her stomach but knew it was partly excitement in anticipation of the coming day.

She dressed simply as the ceremony itself was not until the early afternoon, after which many would retire to their lodgings to have siesta and then prepare for the reception and masquerade later in the evening. A steady stream of relatives from both sides had been coming for the past few days and she had been particularly taken with Rosa's cousin Carmella who had enveloped her in a tight hug as soon as she had been introduced. She had no children of her own but loved everyone else's in abundance and that apparently included Meg. Her husband Arturo was no different and had taken it upon himself to draw Erik out on the subject of horseflesh at every opportunity. He didn't seem to mind and she thought if he limited himself to just one or two people who didn't irritate him beyond reason then he might just be able to manage this day without feeling hemmed in.

She skipped down the stairs and sat and shared breakfast with Erik as usual, noticing he was particularly sombre looking considering the beautiful weather and the day itself. Perhaps he was apprehensive about so many people, about playing in public _and_ for Elena. Perhaps he was thinking about the bride _he_ had wanted and the wedding day _she_ would now have with someone else. She had forgotten how that might be on his mind today especially as it was Elena who looked so much like his angel bride, Christine. She shuddered to think of it and how thoroughly disastrous a union it would have been. There was only so much pain and torture two people could inflict upon each other. She was better off with Raoul and he was better off...well just better off. He needed to learn to live and maybe how to love himself a little because only then could he expect someone else to.

Afterwards she moved to begin his bandages as she did every morning since they had taken the rooms above the pasticceria but when she stood behind him he placed his hand on her arm.

"My mask is finished Meg. You don't need to do this anymore." The words that came out sounded thick and strained and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop his eyes welling.

_No! I mean...NO! You don't understand...I DO need to do it!_ Meg wrung her hands behind his back and swallowed, forcing herself to speak calmly though she far from felt it. "But that's wonderful and just in time for the wedding! Can I see it, the new mask?" She winced as her voice sounded high and too bright. She knew this was good, this was progress. He would feel more himself, less the invalid but she could not help the sadness that flooded her heart at the loss of those precious moments she got to spend in silence with him each day.

Erik _knew_ this moment would be a blessing and a curse. He had come to rely on her touch far too much, come to crave it and revel in it much more than he had any right to. He needed to break out of those damned bindings but he felt perhaps he was losing something he suspected might be just as valuable to him as that mask in his room. "I wasn't going to wear it until we left for the church but perhaps-"

"No. You're right. Wait until you had planned to do it and then I can show off my new dress too. I'll put the bandages on one last time just in case anyone calls here before the wedding and then you can take them off before we go?" _One last time Erik and then you're on your own_. Meg bit back selfish tears as she touched her trembling fingers to the back of his neck.

_One last...take all the time you need. _Erik nodded and closed his eyes feeling unspeakably sad and melancholy in total defiance of the happy day.

* * *

Meg struggled with the ridiculous cage-like contraption that reminded her of a rooster's tail, necessitated by the bustle on her gown. Fortunately most of her undergarments could be fixed from the front and then twisted back around so she would not need the assistance of a maid. The more elaborate gowns of the upper classes made it impossible for one to dress oneself. Rosa's cousin Carmella had begged to be allowed to assist her later for the masquerade, with her hair and the adjustments that would need to be made to her gown and if she was honest she was glad of her offer. Her skirt alone weighed a ton and knew now why a second pair of hands would have been a blessing although she managed to get it over her head and fastened without too much injury. Its train was currently tied up in voluminous bubbles behind her, only adding to the huge bustle but Carmella would let it all down later to its full length. How many layers? Chemise, pantalettes, several petticoats, corset, bustle...it was ridiculous and the June sun would remind her of it the minute she went outdoors. She reached for the little bodice that was more like a jacket and mercifully it fastened up the front so no help needed. She left her hair in a simple knot at her nape to allow for the little straw hat perched on top of her head that she would wear in the church. It was decorated with the same material as her gown and had a small net veil that would cover her eyes. Little kid boots, gloves and a satin reticule completed her outfit. Just a tiny dab of her mother's precious rose oil at her ears and neck and she was ready. Meg took a very deep breath in an attempt to quash the nausea and reached for the handle of her bedroom door.

Erik stood in front of his dressing table mirror and turned this way and that, straightening his vest, picking invisible fluff from his shoulder and smoothing down the black wig he had brought from Paris. His new mask fit like a glove and although similar in shape to the one he had always worn, it was softer, less stark. Gone was the bright, blinding white and the maniacal grimace of before; that haunted expression seemed out of place now. In its stead was a soft cream, almost pearly and iridescent bearing features that perfectly matched the smooth side of his face. It was already warming to his skin and though it felt so safe and familiar he knew he had sacrificed something precious to have it again. He was secretly impressed with his and his talents with a scissors and conceded that he looked as well as he ever had done. Black cashmere pants, snowy white linen shirt with stiff collar, heavy silk brocade vest also in black and cream silk cravat held in place with a pearl stud. His tailcoat of black superfine broadened his shoulders and gave him another inch or two of height, not that he needed it. Drawing his black leather gloves over his fingers, he took his violin case and opened his bedroom door.

_Damn! He's not down yet. _Meg had wanted to make a grand entrance but by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs it was obvious Erik was still in his room. She had not long to wait. Slowly turning around to face the steps, she saw bit by bit first the polished shoes, long legs, beginnings of a tailcoat, his gloves and then the rest of him. _Oh! Oh goodness! He's back!_ Meg's hand involuntarily flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. Gone were the bindings, gone was the gloom of the breakfast table. Before her, standing taller and broader than he had ever looked before was the proud and regal figure she knew as the Phantom. Behind the piercing eyes and faint smile was the softness she knew as Erik. He was all there and the effect was stupefying.

"You...you look really quite handsome. I love the mask...it's far nicer than the old one." _You idiot!_ What else was she to say? _Oh please just let's leave so I don't have to speak again!_

Erik cleared his throat and tried to grasp onto something that would adequately convey his sentiments while at the same time trying to process her compliments. "Thank you...on both counts. May I say that you are quite breathtaking yourself?" Breathtaking didn't even come close; he had almost not made it to the bottom step without tripping. Nothing would have prepared him for that vision in satin as he came down the stairs. Her skin was glowing, her hair glinting in the light from the balcony, her eyes sparkled and she was wafting that tormenting scent of roses in his direction. It was making him swoon like a damned female and now she was blushing from his comments. Was it possible she was receptive to his regard? _She had after all said he looked quite handsome, hadn't she? _She had begun fidgeting with her gloves and now he was out of things to say and the moment stretched infinitely and awkwardly before them. Meg saved him again.

"Shall we go then? We have to get there before the rest so you can play as Elena and Vittorio arrive."

* * *

The Church of San Barnaba was barely a five minute walk down the canal from the pasticceria. Both of them had been there before, Meg the previous day to help with flowers and Erik had slipped in on his way back from the estate agent a few days before to check the acoustics. A few guests had already taken their seats but most would wait and walk with the bride and groom and their godparents as was Venetian custom. They would assist in putting obstacles in the bride's path on her journey to test her suitability as a wife. Meg had heard stories about this in the past few days; chickens that she might have to round up, a lost child that she would have to help...goodness only knew what they had in store for the poor girl!

Meg removed her gloves inside the door and made the sign of the cross with the holy water provided, smiling with pride at the flower filled space. Roses, freesias and orange blossom released their sweet scent into the air. She drew Erik to the left walking down the outside of the main aisle to the front where they would sit, just across from the bride's family. Someone was playing softly on the organ up in the gallery, providing accompaniment to the group of local school children who were warming up with their choirmaster alongside her. They would sing the entire mass in Latin. Erik sat to her left effectively blocking the congregation's view of him. She suspected this was another coping mechanism, after all he would play today in front of an audience for the first time. He was nervous. She could tell from the sound of the leather creaking in his gloves every time he made a fist.

Meg leaned in and whispered softly "Erik, it will be alright, you know. You could doubtless do this in your sleep!" She felt him lean against her shoulder briefly and then straightened up again, pulling his gloves from his fingers slowly and deliberately as if a ritual. He had called in reinforcements and she was beside him; he would be alright.

Wordlessly he handed Meg his gloves and took out his violin and bow and proceeded to tune her. Little by little he felt the tension fall away and the background fade as he went through the motions that were second nature to him. _You can do this. Just breathe and imagine it's just Meg listening. _He tried to ignore the obvious fact that it was a wedding, the first he had attended and that the bride bore a painful resemblance to the one he would rather not have thought about on this particular day. _Remember how she hurt you, remember it would have been madness and remember who saved you...breathe_

Meg turned Erik's soft black gloves in her hands. He never wore them in the house but had always done so as the Phantom and whenever he went out. She supposed they were a part of his armour and perhaps more than that for his hands were his instrument. She slipped her tiny hand into one of them and let the warmth of his hands seep into hers, the inside feeling butter soft. It was a strangely intimate thing, what she was doing and she couldn't quite understand why, nor could she resist pulling on the other one.

"Are your hands particularly cold Meg? Or were you just afraid you'd lose them?" Erik raised his eyebrow and pulled his mouth into a wry smile. She looked wholly ridiculous, sitting there in all her finery with his much larger gloves placed delicately on her lap. But something else...he was oddly touched that she had pulled them on, his warmth wrapping her tiny hands. More and more people had begun to fill the pews and a commotion at the back alerted him to the fact that Elena and her groom had arrived. He rose slowly scanning the faces for his nemesis who was to give him the nod. _Where is the little rat?_ Meg tugged at his sleeve and pulled him back towards her to whisper in his ear.

"You were brilliant!"

"I haven't even started yet you daft creature!" Had she gotten too much sun already? Honestly.

"I know but you will be. You always are." Meg beamed and let go of his arm, pointing that Federico was trying to catch their attention. It was time.

Erik felt his face flush and couldn't quite figure out what she was up to but he was itching to play now so he supposed it had worked. Imagining he was in the sitting room and Meg was on the settee, he began to play just as Elena Pellizzari walked through the door with her godfather. He bit down on his lip against the pain of seeing Christine's double, all dressed in white with a heavy lace veil. That would be _her_ someday soon, if not already. Not him. The other one would walk beside her. _Remember how she hurt you...remember who saved you..._ It had to stop, he couldn't bear it anymore.

Gradually he became aware that the choir up in the balcony had joined him and were singing the words...Ave Maria gratia plena, dominus tecum... Young sweet voices of children no older than Bella rang out in unison. He blinked moisture from his eyes as he experienced for the first time what it felt to be a part of the music with so many others. They could see him and still they sang with him.

Erik closed his eyes and pulled forth the memory of those final moments in his old home, when his love had worn the dress he made for her. He played for her, let the pain come through his fingertips onto the strings and with the bow he set it free, set _her_ free, as he had decided he needed to, on this particular day. The voices that sang with him took it high into the roof and dispelled it in the scented air.

Meg sat choking back tears watching as Elena and Vittorio made their way to the chancel steps, her heart full to bursting for Erik, who stood playing his soul through every note with a full choir behind him. _God how he needed this!_ It hadn't been planned or rehearsed, they just began to sing. As Erik sat back down and put the violin back in her case at his side, she leaned against him again.

"I told you" she said sniffing into her handkerchief.

Rosa and Marcello both turned, teary eyed to transmit silent thanks for the entrance Erik had given their daughter. At one point during the communion Bella had slid across her pew and sat beside them, squeezing in beside her new favourite person, so she could tell him how much he'd made everyone cry. She complained to a very sympathetic Erik about not being allowed in the choir because she was a girl and only went back to her mother before the end as she had the extremely important job of throwing petals out of a basket when the newlyweds came out the doors. Meg sat back and listened to the unfamiliar words of the Latin vows, thinking how beautiful they sounded, so magical and supposed that during that moment the entire world fell away from Elena and Vittorio, until it was just the two of them.

They had kneeled, sat and stood along with the congregation throughout the ceremony and when the priest pronounced the couple married; Meg slipped her hand into Erik's. She knew it would be hard for him and there was little else she could do to take the pain away. He squeezed back and gave her a ghost of a smile letting her know he was alright.

Afterwards they left the church behind the last of the guests, only pausing so Meg could light some more wishes at the bank of candles before the Virgin; five this time, with two additional for the bride and groom. The bright afternoon sun blinded them as they came out into the air and rice littered the steps where it had been liberally tossed over the newlyweds. As they walked slowly back towards the house Meg paused and turned to Erik.

"Are you alright? I mean it _was_ a wedding and it _was _Elena and well-"

"I'm fine. Really. I mean she's still in here somewhere," he placed his hand over his heart, "and probably always will be but I tried to let her go if that makes any sense."

* * *

Back at the house Meg divested herself of hat and gloves and went to the kitchen to make coffee. It would be a few hours before they would need to leave for Palazzo Convertini, where the reception and masquerade would be held and she was starving. Erik had disappeared to his room, no doubt to put away his violin, but not before talking to it for half an hour. That instrument of his was like a living being and so it wouldn't surprise her in the least if he _did_ actually speak to it. Shortly Carmella would arrive to help her with her hair but first she needed food.

Erik sat on his bed with his arms wrapped around his violin case, marvelling at how much she had helped him today. She was always his port in a storm but today she took the poisoned thorn from his heart and let him use her to banish it, let it go. She got to sing with many voices just as he did, for the first time today. The mass was beautiful, all sung by those little children in Latin. All boys as Bella had lamented earlier, some as young as four or five; they had all leaned over the balcony to wave at him as he and Meg left the church. He removed his coat and shoes and stretched out on the bed, hoping for a few moments of calm before he changed and all the madness of the masquerade began. A knock on the door broke his peace.

"Erik, are you decent?"

"No, but come in." He smiled wickedly to himself. It had been a strangely emotional day so far and he was drained so perhaps it was time to have some fun with her. A quick glance at his dresser reminded him that Meg's mask was safely wrapped in tissue in one of the drawers, along with his new one and she wouldn't see it until the very last minute.

Meg nearly dropped the small tray she carried and stared unblinking at his door, not knowing whether to obey and face mortification or stay put and have him laugh at her for being a coward. Well she wasn't a coward and certainly wouldn't start now. Besides, she was curious and it _would _be his own fault. Balancing the tray on her left hand, she turned the knob and pushed with the right, averting her eyes from the bed. Setting the tray down carefully on his dresser, she whirled back around, planted both hands on her hips and stamped at him. "Oh for goodness sake, Erik! Must you tease? You said you weren't decent! _And_ I almost dropped the tray!"

"Yet you still came in and yes, I must! What did you bring me that you were so diligent not to drop?" All of the earlier anguish in the church has been effectively dispelled with one glorious stamp of Meg's right foot.

"I brought coffee and there's some baguette with mozzarella and tomato. Not that you deserve it." Meg crossed her arms under her bust and stuck out her chin and pouted at him. "I'm going to change now because Carmella will be here soon so I'll see you later." With that she whirled out of the room and barely resisted the urge to slam his door off its hinges.

_Grouchy little gattina!_ Erik knew a few hours with that bubbly cousin of Rosa's would put the smile back on her face. _Imagine! She still came in!_

Dusk was just beginning to fall over Venice when Erik stepped out of his room and stopped outside Meg's door.

"Meg? Are you decent?"

Carmella was pinning her hair and she was sitting in her chemise, having removed the heavy skirt, cumbersome frame and petticoats to lie down earlier.

"No I am _not_ and don't even think about coming in because I'm deadly serious."_ I'll kill him. If he as much as looks at the doorknob, I'll kill him._

"I wouldn't dream of it! I have your mask. Shall I leave it downstairs?" Erik smirked to himself at the cross little face he knew was on the other side of the door.

"No, Carmella's coming for it." And then almost as an afterthought she added, "Thank you."

A tiny crack in the door produced Carmella, who squeezed out pulling the door shut tightly behind her, lest he get even a sliver of an indecent Meg. She had changed but wasn't yet masked, so he could see several levels of astonishment cross her face all at once as she gaped up at him.

"Oh well, you're all ready then. I almost wouldn't recognise you!" Carmella had never, in all her forty-eight years seen anything like him. She had met him a few days before and of course seen him play at the church earlier when she'd had to beg Arturo for his handkerchief. It had been so beautiful and then when the children had joined in...he was quite something. Rosa had told her all about the sad man and his lovely blonde companion from Paris and how oblivious the pair of them seemed to be about what was quite obvious to everyone else. Well, wait until the Signorina caught an eyeful of this!

"That _is_ the idea I believe," Erik acknowledged silkily, handing the older woman the tissue wrapped package.

"Thank you Signore. You know you look just like a-"

Erik stopped her with his finger to his lips and then leaned down to whisper, "Not a word Signora, it's a surprise!" Meg didn't hold the patent on those and he wondered if she would remember.

"Ah of course! Don't worry, my lips are sealed. We're not quite ready but my Arturo's downstairs reading the paper. We might be a while yet so perhaps you two might want to go on ahead? You know, so we girls can make an entrance?" Carmella winked at the tall, handsome Frenchman that towered over her and shooed him down the stairs towards her husband. She knew he was awkward with people, presumably because of his face, but her husband seemed to be able to draw him out, having a shared love of horses. They would no doubt bore each other to tears about Arabians, colic and saddle soap.

Meg spun on her chair as her door opened again admitting a flushed and flustered Carmella, who now had her back pressed to the door, her left palm flat to her as if her ribs were about to fall out. "Are you quite alright Signora; you look a little...breathless?"

"Please called me Mella; this signora nonsense makes me feel quite old! Oh and your mask."

Meg took the white package she hadn't noticed and smiled at the black ribbon tied around it, Erik's signature. "Thank you _Mella _and you must also call me Meg since you're helping me dress! So, how does he look? I assume he was ready?" She was dying to know what mask he had picked, what he was wearing.

"Oh, if I was twenty years younger...but I am sworn to secrecy so you will just have to wait."

Meg crawled onto her bed to open her package, sitting cross-legged in the middle. She was dying for more details of Erik but it seemed Carmella had pledged allegiance to her infuriating friend. Whatever she had seen on the other side of the door had put the older woman into something approaching a swoon, so she figured he had outdone himself again. She tugged on the bow he had tied and pulled back the tissue, holding her breath as she revealed the mask he had made, just for her. _Oh Erik! So much work, so much detail and all for her!_ Reverently she lifted it and held it aloft for Carmella to see. It was ivory, to match her bodice and in the shape of a cat, or kitten to be more accurate for the features were far too dainty to be anything else. Tiny pearls accented gold macramé lace around the ears, forehead and tiny nose. Gold leaf rimmed the slightly slanted eyes like shimmering kohl and black silk ribbon attached to either side. She loved it and already it was her most precious thing.

"Oh Meg, it's beautiful, just beautiful. Put it on, let me see!"

Meg tied the ribbons and climbed off the bed to look in the mirror on her dresser and smiled. It was perfect! It just came to the tip of her nose and hugged her cheek bones but came no further. The top covered her entire forehead with the ears right back where they should be, at the start of her hairline. It fit like a second skin and this should have surprised her but didn't. Erik was meticulous. It looked just like her, except feline. _How did he do that?_ Her stomach tied in knots of nervous anticipation of the night ahead. Perhaps he would dance with her? She leapt back to the centre of her bed and stretched right to her toes, her whole body fizzing with excitement, causing Carmella to tease her about how apt Erik's choice had been. He obviously watched her movements and mannerisms a lot more than she was aware of, but then that really didn't surprise her either. _What else has he noticed?_

"We'd better get you dressed Meg, or we'll leave those poor men standing all night _and_ I need to finish your hair!" Carmella reached for the dreaded bustle frame and bent down, waiting patiently for the younger woman to take off her mask, noticing how carefully she placed it back in the tissue, completely unable to tear her eyes away from it. Oh dear, the poor thing was lost! All this surprise and excitement was taking years off her and she couldn't wait to see Meg's face when she arrived at the reception.

* * *

Almost an hour later Federico pulled his gondola alongside the dock in front of Palazzo Convertini. They'd had to wait for a position behind several others and it gave Meg the time to take in the Grand Canal by night and calm her nerves. Light blazed from every window, reflecting like flickering stars on the water. Music poured from the open doors on the balconies above and all around her caped, masked figures alighted from little boats just like the one they were in. The air was heavy from the day's heat; the only relief coming from the slight breeze off the water. It was magical scene and she thought she hadn't looked forward to the masquerade at the Populaire half as much; this was where the custom started and she felt privileged to be a part of it. Erik had been there that night too only this time he was invited. This time he would be like everyone else. This time there was nothing to distract and anger him; he could just enjoy it. She couldn't remember the last time she had attended _anything_ where she hadn't stood just behind and to the right of her best friend, essentially forgotten. She might have been part of the scenery that night but she'd had a bird's eye view of the grand staircase and what transpired at the bottom. She saw the look of pure longing in the Phantom's eyes, speaking louder and clearer than any words could. He had wanted Christine, had scorched the air around her. Everyone could see it, feel it. It had made her knees melt just a little before things had gotten decidedly out of hand. Not that she had ever begrudged Christine any of the attention but she was a person too and tonight she would have something to write home about. She knew she looked as well as she ever had and only wished her mother could have seen her.

"Signora, Signorina, save me a dance later!" A smiling Federico handed the two women onto the dock and pushed off, tipping the brim of his tricorn hat. He had one or two more trips to make and then would be joining the festivities, no doubt making full use of his Casanova guise.

"Well Meg, shall we?" Carmella offered Meg her arm and a dose of moral support which she suspected she needed. The poor thing suddenly looked as if she wanted to run and hide. She remembered that feeling, the butterflies, and the blood rushing to her cheeks and now _she_ couldn't wait for the fun to begin.

From the first floor balcony where he stood watching, Erik spotted the young Casanova pulling up to the dock below and suppressed the urge to make a fist. He knew Meg had no interest in the little rat and had effectively rebuffed him but it still made his skin crawl to see him within ten feet of her.

He and Arturo had spent the past while trying to guess who everyone was underneath their elaborate masks, not that Erik knew any of them anyway but Carmella's husband had given him the insider's unedited synopsis on every merchant in Venice. It was odd having a conversation with another man, having only been used to Meg but it was not unpleasant and the older Italian was sincere and friendly. He supposed he liked him. Now it seemed the ladies had finally arrived. He couldn't really see Meg from this distance as she had donned the traditional masquerade cloak, long and black with a hood but it still couldn't hide the vivid peacock blue of her skirt, just peeking out from beneath her hem or the mask he had made.

Coming to the bottom of the first flight of steps, Erik could hear the chatter that heralded Meg's approach. Slightly apprehensive, he adjusted his mask, straightened his coat and took a deep breath only barely noticing the older man bringing up the rear to his left. As he came to the top of the porch steps he saw Carmella fussing about a cloaked figure, spreading the yards of skirt behind her like an ocean. Pulling himself to his full height, he waited for the moment she would remove her cloak. Her hood dropped, someone's hands came to take the garment from her shoulders and his stomach turned fully over. He was speechless, awestruck and glued to the floor. No part of him would comply with orders to move and greet her. His jaw dropped and his eyes were transfixed, feasting on every detail from her tiny waist upwards. _Gattina..._

Meg realised in a panic that she had no clue what Erik was wearing or what mask he wore. _How would she know him?_ Carmella was adjusting her train – it had been let down to its full length since the ceremony - and as she drew her hood back from her face she felt the vast vaulted porch shrink and the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. Only one person could do that to her. _He's here._ Heart pounding in her chest, feeling the shiver rising from the base of her spine, her eyes climbed the steps before her.

Long black boots just like the ones he'd worn on New Year's Eve, muscular thighs clad in some sort of cream material with a dull sheen, more impressive than anything she had ever seen in or out of the ballet studio. _Oh god!_ She swallowed and was almost afraid to look further but her eyes went on their own journey upwards. Narrow hips were framed by the edge of a navy silk velvet tailcoat, edged with elaborate gold braiding and a cream and gold silk brocade vest covered the expanse of his chest. He stood, resting his weight on his left side, his hands behind his back, impossibly tall. Lifting her head to meet his gaze, she almost stumbled and was transported to several places all at once; her mother's bedroom, San Marco, the dome of the Salute. Carmella rushed forward and took her right hand to steady her.

Waves of heat poured over her as her feet mounted the stairs of their own accord. _Erik. Phantom. Prince. How was she to bear it? He was magnificent, like something from Napoleon's court._

She found his eyes, shining out from behind another of his exquisite creations. Her heart skipped as she realised where he must have gotten the inspiration for it. The mask covered almost as much of his face as the Red Death mask had, revealing only his lower jaw, mouth and eyes. He looked easily as dangerous as he had that night and had fixed her with a look that thrilled and terrified her.

His mask was the same ivory colour as her own but shaped to embody the creature he had become for the night, the one she had first imagined when she had seen his mask out of the corner of her eye, that first awful night. The nose was hooked and painted gold. The same gold macramé lace picked out the unmistakeable features and like hers, gold leaf rimmed his eyes making them shimmer. Above his eyes was moulded into a deep vee giving the impression of the predator about to strike and this culminated in two points, almost like horns on the top of his head. If it was possible, it made him look even more dangerous. The overall effect of it was stunning and her brain struggled to take it all in at once.

Meg had come within two steps of him and had been reeling him down from the top of the stairs with that look in her eyes. They had turned almost like when she got mad with him, all fiery and molten, except she wasn't angry with him now. And the roses were killing him. That revealing bodice she had changed into was doing all sorts of delicious things to him and he ached to pull her close, like in the dome at the Salute. Vaguely he was aware of Carmella at her side and she stepped forward now to speak to him.

"Signore, I believe I have something that belongs to you!" Carmella smiled sweetly, handing Meg's hand over, pinning him with a knowing look.

_Scheming wench!_ Silently he thanked her and since he wasn't about to argue, he reached out and took the tiny hand in his, woefully unprepared for the jolt it sent up his arm. Rosa's cousin gleefully skipped up the stairs behind him to meet with her husband, leaving Meg virtually trancelike in her wake.

She couldn't speak. Her hand was tingling and getting hotter by the second. Erik smiled down at her enigmatically and she cursed him silently for the havoc he was wreaking inside her.

"Hoo-hoo, beautiful creature." Erik teased, hoping to break the thick, hot silence between them.

He was poking fun at her again, reminding her that he had heard everything she said that day in the dome. Except maybe he had meant the part where he said she was beautiful. "Thank you, I mean M-meeaow, I suppose. You look...like a prince I think, far nicer than before, than the Red Death but why do you always have to tease me so much?" Really, even tonight he couldn't resist. He was like a big child sometimes, always pushing and testing to see how much he could get away with.

_A prince? Really?_ _Prince of Darkness maybe. _"Because Meg, you secretly love it. Shall we go up, do you think?" He stepped down beside her and put her left hand over his right arm and steered her up the stairs. He was almost sure he had nearly hypnotised her without even trying. He could if he really wanted to.

Meg moved automatically, led by the Owl Prince, who had her hand in the crook of his arm. Did she secretly love it? It certainly irritated her but then he always seemed to smile in that enigmatic way of his, like he was enjoying it far too much. She liked that smile. It made her breath catch.

Together they walked up the second flight of stairs, her gown flowing like a river behind her, and finally made it through the huge double doors of the ballroom. The strange haze that clogged her mind cleared in the face of such animation. What seemed like hundreds of people milled around the huge ballroom, all of them in various levels of disguise. Some, like her, had dressed in eveningwear and donned a half mask. Others had come in full costume and were virtually undetectable. She couldn't even tell which were male and which were female! Huge trestles lined two sides of the room, heaving with food, both savoury and sweet. Suddenly her stomach growled. It had been hours since she'd eaten.

To her right Rosa appeared, in a more elaborate version of the olive green dress she had worn earlier, having also switched her bodice. A green and gold columbina hid the top half of her face but could not mask the huge grin on her face. She held her hands out to embrace Meg, kissing her carefully on both cheeks and drawing her aside, lowering her voice. "I'm so glad you've finally arrived. You look absolutely beautiful and I only recognised you because I know every glorious inch of that gown, that and the fact that I knew the signore wouldn't have anyone else but you on his arm! He is causing mayhem already. Everyone keeps asking me for an introduction but I knew he would hate that, so I've had to break a few hearts and assure them he is already spoken for."

"Oh Rosa!" Meg tapped her friend on the arm with her fan. She couldn't believe her friend was getting almost as creative with the truth as she. "You're right, he would hate it. But now they'll all assume that I am his intended thanks to you!"

"My dear, I only speak as I find. No one who watched you walk in here this evening will misinterpret it. You belong to him. It is plain for all to see and no one in their right mind would stand between you. I saw what happened at Bella's party when my foolish young son tried his luck." And she'd had words with him about it too. Her only son was no match for Meg's protector.

"Don't be ridiculous! And no one owns me. I won't allow it." _As if!_ Meg was outraged at the very idea of being owned by anyone, let alone Erik. No one would rule her. She would make her own way, unanswerable to anyone but herself. She had spent long enough doing everyone's bidding in Paris.

"Listen to me mi amica, because this is important. Our hearts rarely obey, despite our best efforts to the contrary and you might also like to consider the possibility that he belongs to _you_? I doubt he knows it but I can see it. Now, I strongly recommend getting a plate, filling it and taking your Principe off to a quiet corner where my lady friends won't annoy him!" Rosa leaned in to kiss her again, squeezing her arm before leaving her standing, open-mouthed to greet some new arrivals.

_No! Not possible_. But then she had to consider the way he had looked at her when she arrived, on the stairs. She had seen it before and knew _just_ what it meant then; only this time it lacked the undercurrent of revenge and instead had held something softer, which made it infinitely more dangerous to her. _He couldn't, shouldn't but maybe... did? She couldn't, shouldn't but-_

"Meg! You look liked you've swallowed something decidedly unpleasant, and even before you have waged war on the pastries!" Erik wondered if Rosa had said something to upset her. He didn't want to see her looking glum tonight, or ever if he was honest.

_The ugly truth, perhaps?_ Really it was laughable. No, Rosa was daft, a hopeless romantic and reading far too much into Erik's overwhelmingly possessive aura that he seemed to be projecting. He just didn't want anyone monopolising her in case he might have to be social.

"I'm fine, really, just hungry I suppose. It's been a long time since lunch." She _was_ starving and really thought a glass of something to settle her nerves was in order.

With heaped plates, they found a vacant alcove and sat to eat and watch the spectacle around them. To the right of the main doors, the long windows were open to the night, leading onto a long balcony which overlooked the Grand Canal. Elena, her new husband and what Meg assumed were the rest of their immediate families, sat a short distance away. A small orchestra were tuning their instruments at the opposite end of the room on a raised dais, presumably in readiness for the first dance. She noticed Elena had changed her dress; having worn her mother's for the ceremony and now had a beautiful ivory silk gown with a huge skirt, overlaid with lace. She too was masked; a plumed columbina in white and quite similar to what she herself had worn to the masquerade in the opera house. Her normally straight hair had been teased into curls and piled up at the back of her head, interwoven with orange blossom. She had never looked more like Christine and although Meg thought she looked very beautiful, was secretly concerned it would be a bridge too far for Erik. Had he not already said he had tried to let her go earlier? This would be like a slap in the face.

Erik saw Meg worrying her lip and knew she would be frowning under her mask. He followed the direction of her eyes and knew instantly why. She would no doubt be drawing comparisons with her friend, especially as the bride had curled her hair tonight. He had already seen her, having arrived almost an hour before Meg. While initially and momentarily assaulted with an image of Christine the first time she had taken the stage, he was quite capable of seeing the differences between the two. He wished Meg wouldn't worry so much on his behalf but was also touched by it. No one had ever cared before. Did she think he would have a nervous breakdown? The closest he would come to that would no doubt be induced by the woman sitting on his left, looking more beautiful and tempting that she had any business being. He leaned over and put his hand over the one she was wringing the life out of her napkin with.

"Meg, don't you think if I was going to collapse in a corner over the bride's curls, it would have happened by now? Personally, I think it suits her better straight but you women seem to have a thing about manipulating your hair in strange and wondrous ways."

His hand was huge over hers. As he spoke he was gently prising her fingers from the napkin she had twisted and bunched and tried to bury her nails in, finally succeeding in curling his own fingers under hers. Whatever he was doing with his thumb was delivering strange signals to nerve endings a million miles from the centre of her palm.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking? Are you psychic? It wouldn't surprise me." It fascinated her how some people could read others so well, although she was getting better at figuring out what went through his mind at times. At most others, he was an enigma.

"No, not psychic. And I don't always know but sometime you are quite easy to read; you _wear_ your emotions, others hold them in. It's in the way you move or carry yourself, on your face, in your eyes. It's easy to do if you watch people enough." Unconsciously he drew lazy circles under her hand with his thumb.

Meg wondered, and not for the first time in the past few hours, just how much he _did_ notice. Tonight he was emitting some kind of magnetism that had started the minute he had come down the stairs, before they left for the church and had been growing in strength ever since. Now it was intoxicating and considering she'd only had one glass of wine, she was feeling quite inebriated. Could he know what he was doing to her right now? Had he any idea of what it felt like to sit beside him, what is was like to be in his presence?

"What am I thinking now then?" Boldly she decided to test him and damn the consequences. If by some miracle, he actually guessed how many butterflies had joined the party in her stomach then she could just lie, couldn't she?

Erik felt the almost imperceptible movement of her palm towards his thumb as he removed it momentarily and read the challenge in her eyes. Slowly he smiled, looking directly into her pupils. She was so sure she could fool him but her hand had betrayed her. Again he pulled his thumb back a fraction and waited until he felt her palm press down."Somehow I doubt even _you_ know what you're thinking, but shall I tell you anyway?"

_No!_ Suddenly she wasn't feeling quite so bold and courageous anymore, and judging by the way he was looking at her, was putting the jigsaw together faster than she could jumble the pieces again. How she wished he wouldn't look her directly in the eye like that, his thumb stirring all kinds of madness inside her..._oh God!_

"Buona sera Signorina Gattina, Signore Gufo! Guess who?" A tiny butterfly burst forth and executed a courtesy before them.

_Oh thank God!_ Bella had come skipping across from her sister's table to see them. She was never so glad to see child. Slowly, to avoid detection Meg slid her hand from under its torturous hiding place and glared pointedly at Erik.

"well it's the Butterfly Queen obviously!" Erik winked at Bella, giving her a smile and pushed his chair back, to let her in to show off her wings and matching mask. Over the little girl's head he narrowed his eyes, forcing Meg to look at him. When she did, with a flush that started somewhere below the lace of her bodice, he curled his mouth into a smirk. _You can run but you cannot hide._ He could hear the orchestra tuning up again and saw across to where Elena and Vittorio were being toasted liberally to shouts of "Evviva gli sposi", followed by rapturous applause. "You're wings are very pretty; can you fly?"

"No silly! Only real butterflies can fly. I love your mask, did you make it? It makes you look very clever," Bella decreed seriously and crept past the back of Meg's chair and began to stroke the fabric of Erik's coat down along his left arm. "I like your coat too, it's really soft."

It was always a constant battle to remember how many questions Bella had asked him and there was so much happening tonight, she was in her element. "Yes I made it and thank you, I think. It's so soft because it's silk velvet. Who made your wings?" Fascinated, he watched as she manoeuvred herself around his left leg and hopped up, balancing herself with her left hand on the table and her right on his shoulder. He put his arm around her tiny waist, careful not to crush her wings, so she wouldn't fall and that seemed to encourage her closer. She leaned up to the side of his face and began in a whisper, "Mama did. She can make anything but my mask came from the mascherera. Signorina Meg looks really pretty. Did you make her mask too?"

"Very pretty and yes I did. Do you like it? Does it make her look clever?"

"Don't you know _anything_? Gattinas aren't clever, they're playful and fluffy. I got one for my fifrht birthday and she _really_ liked lying on her back and being tickled but then sometimes she would scratch and bite me." She rubbed her arms vigorously as if remembering the sting.

"Did she really?" Erik's mind was all over the place, several highly inappropriate thoughts swirling around his brain. Then just as deftly as she had climbed onto his lap, Bella slid off again turning her attention to Meg, who had been sitting back watching the crowd.

They were getting louder and more boisterous, presumably from all the toasting and the refilling of all of their glasses that it necessitated. As long as he wasn't expected to join them he would be alright. Being masked along with everyone else made him less conspicuous, so consequently he didn't feel as many eyes on him as usual. Essentially he was anonymous. It was quite a liberating feeling. Only the Pellizzaris and Arturo and his wife knew who he was and Meg was the only one who _really_ knew. It was as far away from the New Year's masquerade as he could imagine. There was more colour, no tension; everyone was enjoying themselves, no one was nervous...well discounting Meg and that was entirely his doing.

Meg had had to turn around and face the ballroom to hide the silly tears that came every time she watched Erik and Bella. For a man so awkward with everyone else, he always seemed so at ease with her; although the little girl possessed an uncanny ability to disarm and charm absolutely everyone. Now she was making a thorough inspection of her bustle, sliding her fingers over the heavy satin, making little comments about how it was just the exact colour of a peacock and did she know that Signore Erik thought she looked very pretty? _Did he really?_ He had her tied in knots this evening, in fact since breakfast. One minute she wanted to weep, the next stamp her foot and then when he looked at her that way and did that thing with his thumb...well she wanted...oh! A loud cheer rang out as Elena and Vittorio took to the floor for their first dance; the orchestra striking up a waltz. Small arms came around her neck and Bella pressed her face close, cupping her hand over her mouth just as she done with Erik. She obviously had something important to tell her.

"I think he looks like a fairytale prince. I _really_ like his mask. Do you think he would dance with me? This is my first grown up party but I'm too small so everyone forgets me and my stupid cousins are all playing hide and seek under the tables but I don't want to dance with them anyway because they're disgusting, always chasing me with creepy insects." She stuck out her lip in a pout and had a positively forlorn look on her face. Meg was undone. The poor thing had obviously developed a huge crush on Erik, not that he would ever believe it and every man for years would fall very short of the hero Bella had in her head. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure he would be honoured to dance with the Butterfly Queen." Perhaps it was pushing him too far tonight but she thought Bella had the best chance of anyone, as she knew he wouldn't refuse her.

As couples flooded the dancefloor – bautas and columbinas, jesters and Casanovas – Meg sat and watched with a lump in her throat as a seven year old girl put a thirty four year old former Opera Ghost through his paces. No one in Paris would ever have believed it, least of all her mother. With good grace he had taken the little girl's hand and walked with her to the very edge of the floor, away from the more crowded centre, and allowed her to teach him the waltz. She suspected he knew very well how it went, having no doubt spied on enough parties in the Populaire and it didn't take a musical genius to pick up the simple steps. She also suspected it was taking more effort than he was showing to be out there with all those people. He had never been a part of anything before, always on the fringes of society and humanity and it was a daily struggle for him to cope with things that others took for granted, like being in a crowd. However, Bella was chattering away to him the entire time so she thought perhaps that was making it easier for him to keep his insecurities at bay.

From that moment on Meg had been pulled to her feet by a slightly merry Arturo and passed from one masked reveller to the next. Waltzes, polkas, folk dances and country dances kept her moving further into the crowd and further away from Erik. She was supposed to be protecting him from all of this madness, keeping everyone away from him so he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed. He seemed to have been stolen away from his diminutive teacher by first Carmella, then Rosa and goodness knows who else. She couldn't believe he was still out there but every time she caught sight of the regal looking owl he was twirling yet another papier maché faced beauty expertly across the floor and judging by the looks he was getting there was a queue forming. If she didn't know better she would say he was in his element, soaking up the attention.

Currently being led around the floor by Marcello – at least he was someone she recognised – she noticed the hungry eyes of several masked beauties waiting at the edge of the dance floor. Clenching her teeth in irritation she turned her attention back to Marcello who was beaming at her. "Signorina, your Owl Prince is causing quite a stir and consequently so are you. You see them look longingly; patiently waiting their turn but you do not see the daggers shooting from their eyes! They all want to be the Gattina that leaves with Signore Erik."

"What does that mean? Bella said it earlier too."

"Ah, it means kitten, although we also use it as a term of endearment like cucciola mia or tesorina. So you see you are Signorina Gattina tonight and making half of Venice green with envy!"

"Oh. I doubt that somehow but it's nice of you to say so. Do you think we could sit the next dance out, I think I'd like something to drink; it's so incredibly hot in here?"

Erik's tolerance for being part of the human race was waning fast. Once Rosa and Carmella had got their claws into him on the dance floor, he hadn't been allowed to leave it. One after the other, women passed through his hands like horses on a carousel. Well, he wanted to get off now. The roof seemed to be getting lower, the walls nearer and he was dizzy being in such a crush but there was no way to extract himself without making a scene. Not that it had ever stopped him before. He came and went as he pleased but this was not his night. This was not his opera house. Where the hell was Meg when he needed her? All it would have taken was for her to cut in and then he would have been saved. The last time he caught a flash of the back of her head she was with Marcello but now she had disappeared entirely. His current partner curtsied demurely as the dance came to an end, only to be replaced by the bride. _Oh god!_ It was all very well seeing her from a distance but now he would have to dance with her. It was expected. Everyone danced at least once with the bride apparently. Personally he thought it was a ridiculous custom and if he were in Vittorio's place he wouldn't have let anyone else near her for the entire night. She looked so happy, radiant in fact.

"Signore I want to thank you for playing so beautifully. The signorina told me that you never play in public so I know how much of an honour it was. I don't think my mama has ever cried so much!"

"It was my pleasure and may I congratulate you on your marriage. I hope you will be very happy." He was not used to making pleasantries like this but it sounded much like what everyone else had been saying all evening and he supposed it _was_ the appropriate thing to say. He hoped Christine would be happy, even if it _was_ with that idiot with the overly extravagant hair and perfect breeding, since that had been her choice. If anyone could be happy after what he had done, it would be a miracle but Meg Giry was proof that stranger things had happened and that anything was possible. It was entirely her fault he was dancing a waltz, with a bride, at a masquerade in Venice and no one had run for the exits yet. Elena was really nothing like his angel apart from an innate kindness that they both shared. Christine had lost it when she had ripped off his mask but he had seen it from childhood in the way she spoke to the smaller children and fervently hoped she would find it again. It still hurt, would always hurt to think of that betrayal but sometimes desperate people did desperate things. It was the only possible explanation he was comfortable with. He was living proof of it.

_I can't believe it! He's dancing with her!_ Meg had to blink several times lest her eyes were deceiving her but no, Erik was leading Elena – Christine's doppelganger – around the floor. _And_ with a smile on his face. It was the smile that did it. She _knew_ it would be awkward and probably bittersweet but did he _have_ to look like he was enjoying it so much? Was he lost in a dream world, the impossible alternate land where he and his angel lived happily ever after? Would he ever come back? Spotting Federico lounging casually against the buffet table, she made her way across to him purposefully. She knew Erik couldn't abide him anywhere near her and if she wasn't desperate she would never even have considered this. But she was terrified he would do something silly or worse, regress back to the way he was when she had first found him and then all these past months would have been for nothing. She couldn't just sit back and watch him fall into oblivion, while that gaping wound her friend had left wept again, festering and septic.

"Signore Casanova, I don't believe you have claimed your dance yet."

"Signorina my mama would not think it wise and I think your friend, Signore Erik would not like it." His mother had filled him in on the happenings at his sister's party, how the older man had looked positively murderous when he had gotten too close to her, had warned him to keep his distance. He had had no idea and really didn't want to upset anyone, least of all _him_. His mama would kill him.

"Oh nonsense, he's far too busy dancing with your sister to notice. I insist." She was banking on the fact that he _would_ notice. She hated mind games but it might be the only thing that would jolt him out of his current state of inebriation. She also hated the nasty, gnawing feeling that persisted as she watched Erik with Elena. She hadn't felt it quite as much when he had danced with all the others. That had just been irritation but this was violent. She wanted to rip the poor girl out of his arms and slap him. She wanted to stamp her feet and...but that could only mean one thing. She was jealous, bitterly and ferociously jealous. She wanted to be where Elena was, _she_ wanted to dance with him and have him smile down at her. It almost looked like avoidance that she was practically the only woman he hadn't danced with so far.

Erik spotted Meg immediately. She had appeared out of nowhere on the arm of the rat. What was she doing with him! Involuntarily, his entire body tensed and he tried to keep it from his hands lest he crush Elena's fingers. As he spun her round and round he craned his neck like a hawk, tracking the rat's progress at every turn. She was laughing far too much, enjoying it far too much. Suddenly she looked directly at him, burning him with eyes full of fire. _She was glaring at him! What had he done to deserve that? She was the one dancing with that gondola poling imbecile. Casanova indeed!_ He held her eyes, softening his in an attempt to break whatever silent argument she was having with him. Slowly the determined set of her mouth slipped, the corners turning down and he could see she was biting down on her lip; her eyes glistening with unshed tears. _What's wrong Gattina?_ No sooner had he thought it than she had torn herself out of Federico's grasp and fled, heading in the direction of the open windows that led to the balcony. He couldn't leave Elena standing until the music finished, but he could still see Meg. She wouldn't get very far.

Gulping lungfuls of air, Meg stood, both hands gripping the stone balustrade and stared unseeing into the Grand Canal below. _Why does it hurt? Why can't I make it stop?_ Her stomach was in intricate knots, her chest ached and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. The only way to stop it was to grip harder to the railing. All day and night he had been turning her over, stirring her insides and making her want things she definitely shouldn't. For weeks this madness had been waging a war inside her and for the same length she had been fighting it. He was her friend; she was supposed to be helping him. Now, everything was all over the place and upside down. She was falling where she shouldn't, aching where she shouldn't and it all boiled down to wanting what she couldn't have. What she wanted belonged to someone else, to the same someone who had gotten everything else; her mother's affection, the beauty, the spotlight that was never hers and the undivided attention of one Phantom. It killed her to hate her friend but right now she did.

She was rigid, bent over the railing, staring out at nothing and everything. The place was empty, everyone having flooded back inside for some popular local tune that had them all clamouring for space on the floor. It was still warm, balmy even from the earlier sunshine and a faint breeze wafted up from the water below so perhaps that's what caused her to shiver. Erik could pick out the tiny goose bumps across the back of her shoulders and neck. _Such a beautiful neck, like a swan._ He could see the faint shadows cast by her vertebrae and counted one, two, three, and four before they disappeared below her bodice. His fingers itched to trace them all the way down.

"Meg, are you alright?"

She spun round and faced him, wet streaks falling below her mask to bead precariously at the edge of her jaw. Unconsciously she swiped them away. "_You've_ been busy. Every woman in Venice has apparently had the privilege of a dance with the great Owl Prince, including the bride." _Stupid, stupid Meg!_ She hadn't meant for it all to come out like that, sounding like a spoilt child. She hadn't danced with _him_ either. She could have cut in but she hadn't, had wanted him to ask her.

_Unbelievable!_ She was green with envy and something else he was afraid to categorise but it had obviously upset her. "Everyone has to dance with the bride, Meg. It's custom apparently and I could have done without half of Venice dragging me round the floor for the past few hours. I couldn't breathe. Somehow I think Rosa and her cousin had a hand in that. But there's one woman in Venice I didn't get the privilege of dancing with." Holding his hand out in a combination of apology and invitation, he hoped she wouldn't turn and run again.

Slowly she inched her left hand across the void between them, tears and frustration forgotten and let him catch it in his right, pulling her towards him. "I don't want to go back inside, there are too many people and it's far too stuffy." He had moved it onto his shoulder, wrapped his arm around her and she felt his fingers burn into her back. She gave up her other hand and he folded it in his much larger one, pulling her closer so they were almost touching.

"We can stay out here, there's no one else."

"They're playing a polka. There's not enough room for it and I'm not very good." _Stop thinking about his hand on your back, stop wanting him to pull you closer. Stop, Stop... _

"Ssh...ignore them. We don't need the orchestra, just follow me." He led her in a slow waltz, playing the music in his head, revelling in the feel of her in his arms. She had begun to relax, the tension gradually seeping away from her fingers until they softened in his hand and at his shoulder. His eyes travelled over the top of her head and he inhaled the scent of her mixed with that rose oil that tortured him so much. He noticed a tiny mark, a beauty spot on her right shoulder, just peeking out from underneath her bodice. He was having difficulty enough keeping his eyes away from everything below her neck without the urge to go searching for more of them. And the roses...

"What are you looking at? Have I spilled something on my dress?" Every time his eyes fell on her skin she could feel it like the rays of the sun when it came out from behind a cloud.

"You have a beauty spot on your shoulder. I was just wondering if you had more?" _Oh you idiot! Couldn't you have just said you were admiring her dress?_

"It's a mole actually and I've got several. One on the back of my knee, one tiny one between my second and third toe on my right foot, one under my arm – see – and a birthmark." She twisted her arm so he could observe the rather unspectacular mole above her elbow, normally hidden under her everyday clothes. She knew she was chattering but she couldn't seem to stop. He wouldn't want to know this stupid nonsense she couldn't seem to stop it coming out of her mouth. It was just that she couldn't think properly anymore. Her entire world had shrunk to the circle of his arms and she wanted to curl up inside his coat and never come out.

"Where is it Meg, or is that a secret?"

Meg coloured and dropped her chin to her chest, unwilling to meet his eyes. No one knew of it apart from her mother, not even Christine. And no one would ever see it, well except if she married she supposed. Then someone would eventually find it. "Yes it's a secret and no, I'm not telling you."

"It must be somewhere very interesting, to make you blush?" His mind was racing with possibilities. All of a sudden it was the most important piece of information in the world. He was desperate to know and secretly, equally desperate to see it for himself. It was too much, that rose oil she always wore and her own unique scent, so much soft skin beneath his eyes. She was bewitching.

"Like I said, it's a secret. _Please_ don't ask me again." Mortified that he might actually guess, she tried to change the subject entirely. "Bella was your first dance ever wasn't she, though I suppose there's bound to be lots of firsts, isn't there?" She doubted the little girl would ever forget it. She wouldn't forget this either, her first dance with the Phantom.

He could think of quite a few."Yes actually, but I've saved the best for last." It reminded him of what Marcello had said to him at Bella's party, how it wasn't the first but the last that was important. Now he knew it was true.

Meg noticed vaguely that the music from inside had stopped but they were still moving, swaying gently like tall grasses in a breeze. Their bodies now touched almost completely from shoulder to toe and she felt his thighs move gently against hers as they moved in a slow circle, no longer paying any heed to the steps, moving to music neither could hear but both could feel. The heat from his skin, just above his collar permeated every one of her pores and his scent tickled her nose, sandalwood and something that was his alone. It was intoxicating. Her head felt heavy and all she wanted to do was let it fall on his shoulder. She knew it would fit, all the rest of him seemed to mould perfectly against her; no hard edges and no unnecessary spaces. She tried to focus on the snowy cravat tied at his throat to avoid his eyes, so didn't notice that he had moved until she felt his forehead touch hers, her mask pressing against her skin. He gathered her closer still, his hand at her back moving up to meet the exposed skin just above her shoulder blades, his fingers splaying across her back, sending shivers along her neck. She curled her fingers into his shoulder and felt him draw her other hand into his chest. She had only ever been this close to him once before, in the dome. _Dare she look up?_

Erik couldn't stand much more of it. This was where he should have been all night, instead of being party to Rosa's scheming. He had felt trapped by one woman after the next, unable to escape; too many people and none who knew him, none who understood. And all the while he should have been out here, in the air, with Meg. He bent his head and rested his forehead against hers and pulled her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her. _Look at me._

_Oh no!_ As her eyes met his, she knew she'd made a mistake. Her knees wouldn't hold her if he didn't stop looking at her like that, like on the stairs, like he wanted her, like he wanted to...

"Gattina..."

It was barely a whisper and the last thing she heard before life as she knew it changed forever. She tried desperately to keep her eyes open but they wouldn't obey; her eyelids fell and she slipped into the darkness. Light exploded behind her closed lids as she felt Erik's lips touch hers, so soft and sensual. That beautifully provocative mouth that had fascinated and taunted her for weeks, months was requesting permission gently, but persuasively of hers and she was powerless to deny him. _Please don't stop!_ He released her hand only to capture her neck and she felt his long fingers beneath her ear, that masterful thumb tracing across her jaw.

_My beautiful Meg..._Erik felt as if he had truly died and gone to that paradise he had only ever dreamt existed. Her skin was softer and smoother than the silk of her gown, than polished ivory and he felt her pulse jump beneath his fingertips. That first touch of her lips, soft and tender beneath his left him reeling, swimming in sensations that sent delicious messages of intent to every nerve. He wanted more. Both of her hands had twined around his neck, pulling him to her. _God he wanted her!_ He heard a soft moan trying to escape, low in her throat, just as he ran his thumb across her chin. Swallowing it at it reached her mouth, he crushed her against him, intoxicated by the feel of her breasts pushed up against his chest and took everything she offered him, his tongue boldly seducing hers out to play.

* * *

**A/N **Sorry, I know it's a really evil place to chop this but what can I say I'M EVIL - See my smirk!


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